Memories of Things Unknown
by CastleQuill
Summary: Castiel woke in a strange hotel, without his memories and with the angels' voices in his head, constantly speaking of two brothers - the Winchesters. Castiel quickly befriends the two, and would do anything to stay by their sides, even lying about his origins. But Castiel realizes that Dean also has something to hide, and his secret may be deadlier than they ever imagined.
1. Prologue

This story has been written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang. The cover (and three other brilliant pictures) were drawn by my amazing artist, DREYM. If you want to check out the rest of her artwork (and you definitely do), then you can click the link in my profile. (Warning: the art masterpost contains spoilers for this story.)

Thanks to the awesome the-dramaqueen-fallen-angel for beta reading this story.

**Pairings:** Destiel, with very brief mentions of Dean/one night stands.

**Warnings:** canon-level violence and torture, multiple minor/side characters dying gruesome deaths, strong language, angst, not exactly John Winchester friendly

* * *

><p><strong>PROLOGUE<strong>

Dad was busy talking to the doctor when Sam slipped into the room. Sam didn't say a word, just entered as quietly as he could and headed for the chair in the corner. He hadn't expected his dad to notice him at all, but to his surprise, Dad instantly turned and glanced over at him as he dropped into his seat.

Or, specifically, Dad glanced at the plastic bag hanging loosely from Sam's fingertips. He nodded approvingly, then turned his attention back to the doctor.

Sam slouched in his chair, his arms flopping over the armrests, not even trying to hide how tired he felt. He let the bag continue to dangle from his fingers, even though he mostly just wanted to smash it against the wall, to destroy the oils and herbs and candles that Bobby had gotten for them instead of being the good son for once and bringing them to Dad.

But causing a scene like that in the middle of a hospital room was definitely a bad idea, unless Sam wanted to get himself kicked out. And there was no way in hell that he was going to let that happen.

Besides, Dean would've gotten Dad whatever he wanted, no matter how much he disagreed. And there were times that Sam wanted to kick Dean's ass for the way that his older brother always kissed their dad's shoes, but right now, Sam figured that Dean needed someone to look out for what he'd want. And it was looking more and more like Sam would have to be the one to do it, because Dean didn't have anyone else on his side anymore.

That was why Sam was able to keep himself calm.

Barely.

"Dean doesn't show any signs of improvement," the doctor said, and Sam instantly stiffened and sat up, completely on alert.

"And what exactly does that mean?" Dad asked, sounding way calmer than he had any right to be.

"I'm sorry, Mr. McGillicutty, but we're reaching the point where we have to start considering the possibility that Dean will never wake up," the doctor said, his voice gentle, for all the help that that was. As if talking in a nice voice was supposed to make it better that he was basically saying that Dean was going to die. "It might be for the best to turn off the machines-"

Sam's hands clenched around the arms of his chair, and he watched his dad and the doctor with narrowed eyes.

He'd known that Dean was in bad shape. He'd known it from the moment that the truck had collided with the Impala, when he'd been screaming Dean's name and hadn't gotten an answer. And hell, you couldn't look at Dean, at all the tubes and wires and machines hooked up to his body, without figuring that one out. The doctors had already talked about brain damage, about the possibility of Dean never waking up, the fact that even if Dean did wake, it didn't mean that the damage would just magically heal, or that Dean would ever be okay again. And Sam had known all that, but still, he hadn't realized that it was this bad. Bad enough that the doctors were talking about turning the freakin' machines off, that they thought that it would be for the best if Dean just died.

Sam's hands tightened around the arm rests, until he was certain that he was going to break either the chair or himself, whichever came first. But he knew one thing for sure: he wasn't letting them turn off those machines. He was going to keep Dean alive, and find a way to fix him, even if he had to do it by himself.

"Not going to happen," Dad said, before the doctor had ever finished speaking. So there was that, at least.

"I know that this is a difficult decision," the doctor said, and the sympathy in her voice only made Sam want to gag. Like the doctor knew anything about what was going on. "It definitely isn't a decision that you should make lightly. Take some time to think it over. Though, you should know that this is likely the best thing that you can do for your son, especially in light of what happened earlier this afternoon-"

Sam frowned. "Wait," he said. "What happened earlier this afternoon?"

"Nothing," Dad said, almost absently.

Sam's hands clenched harder on the arms of his chairs. "Did something happen to Dean when I was out getting your stuff?" he demanded, his voice getting lower and harder.

"We can discuss this later," Dad said, in the voice he used when the discussion was closed, no arguments. Sam just narrowed his eyes. That tone always worked on Dean – Dean never even thought about disobeying when Dad sounded like that. For Sam, though, it had always been an invitation to fight back even harder, and there was no way in hell that that was going to change now.

"Thanks, doc," Dad added, an obvious dismissal in his voice – he couldn't have made it clearer that he was done talking to the doctor. The doctor nodded and left. Dad barely waited until the man was out of the room before he turned to Sam and asked, "Did you get what I need?"

Sam glanced down at the plastic bag dangling from his fingers, and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I got it," he said, lifting his arm to show Dad.

Dad nodded. "Hand it here."

Sam didn't move. "What happened with Dean earlier?"

"He was in a rough spot for a bit," Dad said, and again, Sam knew instantly that Dad wasn't going to elaborate any further. Not unless someone dragged the information out of him.

So that was exactly what Sam was going to do, then. "How rough?" he demanded, copying Dad's tone exactly. Dad wasn't the only one who could be a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be, and there was no fucking way that Sam was going to back down on this one.

"It doesn't matter, he's fine now," Dad said, then held out one hand. "Give me the bag."

Sam shook his head before Dad had even finished speaking. "Not until you tell me what happened with Dean," he said. Dad was going to say something more, but Sam cut him off before he could. "Tell me, or I'll head down from the nurses' station and find out from them, and I'm taking the bag with me. You don't tell me, and I'm never giving this stuff to you. You'll have to call Bobby to get more oil and candles and whatever the fuck else you have in here."

Dad glared, and Sam was already bracing himself for the explosion – and bracing himself to walk away, because he was serious about not handing over the bag if he didn't get the answers he needed, even if it meant that Dad would never welcome him back.

That was fine. It wouldn't be the first time that Sam had gotten himself cut off, and Dean was infinitely more important than Stanford had been.

After a few seconds, though, Dad's face softened slightly, replaced by a scared look that Sam wasn't used to seeing on his dad's face. Dad was the one who never wavered. Hell, even Dean got freaked out sometimes, but Dad never did. Not before now, at least.

It only lasted a second, and then Dad composed his face, making it sad, but completely calm, without a trace of fear. It was enough to make Sam wonder if he had even seen the fear at all.

"His heart stopped for a bit," Dad said, as if he were describing any other injury that Dean had gotten over the years. Dean got a little bruised from wrestling that shapeshifter. Dean got thrown into a wall by a pissed-off spirit and cracked his ribs. Dean died for a minute or two because a demon hurt him badly enough to stop his heart. Standard practice, typical hunter consequences. Nothing unusual, nothing to worry about.

"They got it beating again," Dad added, but Sam barely heard him.

His hands were shaking. Honestly, in that moment, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to hear anything that anybody said to him.

"You weren't going to tell me," Sam said, and somehow, his voice came out low, almost calm. "Dean died, and you weren't going to tell me?"

"You don't need one more thing to worry about," Dad said. "And anyway, it's not going to matter soon. Now give me the stuff."

"Doesn't matter?" Sam repeated. In an instant, he was on his feet. He didn't even remember moving, but one second he was slumped in his seat, and then he was towering over Dad, the bag swinging wildly in his grip. "Dean died, and it doesn't matter? His heart stopped once, and it could happen again. And even if it doesn't, the doctors are trying to turn off the machines because they say he's brain dead and will never recover. We don't have any time left now. You're supposed to be helping me save him."

"That's exactly why I sent you to get supplies-" Dad began.

"Don't even pretend," Sam snapped, his voice rising. The sensible part of his mind reminded him that he was getting too loud, that they were talking about things that normal people couldn't know about. And even if they weren't, he didn't want to get himself kicked out of the hospital for causing a disturbance. That was the whole reason why he'd stayed calm for so long, and he wasn't going to ruin it now.

He had a hard time trying to care, though.

"What are you talking about?" Dad asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I talked to Bobby," Sam said. He didn't shout, not this time, but it was a near thing. "He told me that he knows what these-" he made a random, sweeping gesture with his right arm, sending the bag swinging back and forth in his grip "-are for, and it's not protection."

Dad's eyes narrowed further. "And what are you implying?"

"Dean's dying," Sam snapped. "Hell, he's practically dead already, and instead of trying to do something to save him, you're sending me for ingredients to a summoning spell."

"I'm doing what needs to be done," Dad said.

Of course he was. Because killing the demon was much more important than finding a spell that could save Dean. Because avenging his wife was more important that making sure that his son didn't become another casualty.

"Save it," Sam said.

His hands were shaking harder now, balling into fists completely without any conscious effort on his part. His entire body was practically trembling, and he had to remind himself, _Dean Dean Dean._ Dean needed him to stay here, to stay with him and find some way to fix this. Sam couldn't lose control. Not here.

He'd be pissed once Dean was awake and recovering. Until then, his anger could wait.

He turned and started to storm out of the room.

"Sam, wait," Dad called.

Sam didn't slow down. He might be keeping his calm now, but there was no reason to tempt himself – and being around Dad always tempted Sam to lose his temper. It had been that way for as long as Sam could remember, even back when Sam didn't have half as much reason to be angry. Now, Sam would be surprised if he could stay in this room for even another minute without shouting at Dad, demanding to know why he was going to let his son die, demanding to know why he didn't care at all that Dean barely had any time left.

Yeah, it would definitely be better to get out of the room as fast as he could. Whatever Dad wanted to say, it could wait for later.

Then-

"Leave the bag," Dad said.

Sam froze, halfway out the doorway already. He slowly looked down at the bag. The was a single candle sticking out of the top, and Sam could make out the shapes of the other candles inside, the bowl for mixing ingredients, the various herbs and oils that Bobby had gotten them. And finally, the Colt, with its single remaining bullet.

Sam took a deep breath, and lowered the bag to the ground. Then he left.

He headed straight for Dean's room, of course. It was just down the hallway, not too far from where Dad was staying. It only took a minute for Sam to get there, walking as fast as he was.

He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, the way that he had when he'd first seen Dean's broken body earlier that morning. And for a second, it was like he was seeing Dean for the first time all over again, because now, Sam was picturing what it must have looked like when Dean's heart had stopped. The doctors and nurses all swarming around his brother, fighting to keep him alive. The panic, the chest compressions, the machines going wild. And Sam hadn't been there for it, because he'd been off on some stupid errand for Dad, getting the ingredients to summon the demon that was apparently more important than Dean.

Sam's throat felt way too tight. He shook his head and cleared his throat, then stepped into the room.

"Hey," he said softly as he approached. Earlier that day, he'd pulled a chair up right next to the bed, as close to Dean as he could get. Now, the chair was shoved randomly to the side of the room, like someone had pushed it there in a hurry. Sam grabbed it and dragged it back into place, then dropped into it, his knees pressed against the side of Dean's mattress.

"Big scare today, huh?" he asked, then added, "Don't worry, though. I could've told them that you'd be too stubborn to die for real. They probably didn't even have to use the machines, right? You just gave death the old 'fuck you' and restarted your own heart."

There were times when Sam was sure that Dean could hear him. Maybe it was a psychic thing, or maybe it was just pure hope, but he swore that he could sense Dean's presence. Everywhere he went, he'd been watching for any signs that he was right – glass breaking, curtains blowing in a nonexistent breeze, anything that might indicate that there was a spirit around. So far, Sam hadn't seen a single sign, but he didn't give up. Because no matter how irrational it seemed, sometimes Sam just knew that Dean had to be around, even if there wasn't any actual proof.

Now wasn't one of those times. Sam didn't think he'd ever been more acutely aware of the fact that he was completely alone.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from talking to Dean, just in case.

"Let's not let that happen again, though," he continued, and reached for Dean's bedside table. It had been moved to the side to make room for equipment, but it was still easily within reach. From the top drawer, Sam pulled out Dad's journal. He'd left it there that morning while he went to go check out the Impala, which was probably a mistake – Dean would never forgive him if he was careless with the journal and it got lost or stolen. But Sam had had more important things on his mind than where to put the journal, and anyway, it was still right where he'd left it, so no harm done.

Sam opened the front cover and flipped through the first few pages. He hadn't read the journal as many times as Dean had, but he still knew enough to know that there wouldn't be anything useful until about a dozen pages in, at least.

He also knew that there probably wouldn't be anything useful at all. Especially since Sam had poured through it a few months ago, after Dean had been electrocuted and given just a few months to live. He'd had hours to sit in the waiting room, not even allowed to see his brother yet, and he'd spent the time reading every single word of Dad's journal, searching for anything that could help Dean.

There was nothing. Reading it again wasn't going to change that, but still, Sam couldn't help but hold onto hope that maybe he'd find something he'd missed the first few times, that there would magically be some perfect piece of information to tell him exactly what to do to make Dean okay.

"I'm not giving up," Sam continued. One hand reached up to tug at the amulet he was wearing. Dean's amulet. The nurses had given it back to him this morning, and Sam was wearing it now. Keeping it safe, until Dean was awake and could put it back on himself. "We'll find a way to fix this. I promise." At this point, he wasn't entirely sure if he was talking to Dean or to himself, but it didn't really matter.

One more time. He'd look through the journal one more time, and if that failed, he'd call Bobby. Right now, Bobby was towing the Impala back to his house, to keep it safe for Dean. But he had more books than anyone that Sam had ever met – there had to be something buried in one of them, and Bobby would be the best person to track it down.

Dean would be fine. He had to be.

"I'm not giving up," Sam said again as he flipped to the next page of the journal. "Don't go anywhere yet, okay? Just stay alive long enough for me to find something, that's all I need you to do. Just stay alive."

That was when Sam felt it.

There was definitely a presence somewhere in the room. Sam had felt that way before, but it had been a vague feeling, just weak enough to make him wonder whether he was just making it up in his mind. This, though, this was different. Sam _felt_ that there was someone else in the room, the same way that he felt the floor beneath his feet or the bruises across his chest.

Sam swallowed hard, and slowly set the journal onto the end of the bed. "Dean," he said, and stood, then turned in a slow circle.

There was no response. The room was just as empty as it had been before. Absolutely nothing moved. The curtains didn't tremble, the door didn't open or close, the plastic cup left over from the breakfast that Sam had eaten in Dean's room didn't budge a centimeter. Still, though, Sam knew that he wasn't alone.

Sam waited, not moving, not saying a word, wondering if the presence would disappear. It didn't. If anything, it grew stronger.

"Dean?" Sam repeated. This time, his voice wasn't even remotely certain.

The presence was overwhelming now. Sam's arms shook, and his legs had gone weak. He stumbled and dropped back into his chair, just in time to avoid crumpling to a heap on the floor.

This wasn't Dean.

There was a low buzz in the background, starting soft but growing louder and louder. His head felt like it was filled with static, like he could actually feel the noise buzzing against the inside of his brain. He cried out, his hands flying up to cover his ears, but it wasn't enough – not even close to enough. The noise, whatever it was, had wormed its way inside of him. He could feel it vibrating through his bones, like his entire body was priming to explode. His body could disintegrate that moment, and Sam wouldn't be surprised.

Shit. The noise almost drowned out all thought completely, but there was one thing that stood out clearly in his mind: he couldn't let this… this _thing_ – whatever it was – hurt Dean. And it must be. Dean didn't show any signs of it, but then, he wouldn't be able to. That didn't mean that the noise wasn't damaging him the way that Sam could feel it damaging him.

Sam didn't know a way to stop it, though. He didn't even know what was happening, let alone how he was supposed to keep Dean safe. He could try to escape, but Dean was only breathing because the machines forced him to – there was no way that Sam could move him.

Dad. He needed to get dad.

Sam was slumped in the chair. It was like he was drugged. His limbs wouldn't work the way that he told them to. He couldn't even stand up, but after a second of struggling, he managed to push his elbow against the arm of the chair, trying to use it to prop himself up without uncovering his ears.

It was hard, and awkward, and horribly painful, but he did manage to shove himself to his feet and stumble toward the door.

He only made it a couple steps before he fell.

He hit the ground hard, his head slamming against the floor, adding one more pain that he barely noticed because his entire body was throbbing so hard. Sam groaned but tried to push himself up. He couldn't just wait here. Dean needed help. Sam needed to get help.

He couldn't push himself up, though. He could barely even move.

There was a light shining above Dean's bed now, growing brighter and brighter by the second. Sam's eyes burned, and he turned away, tucking his head down against his chest and curling into the fetal position, hands still covering his ears, just waiting for it to be over.

Then, suddenly, it was.

The sound disappeared in an instant, there one second and gone the next. Sam pushed himself up – his body worked fine now, as if there had never been anything wrong with it – and looked around.

The room was destroyed. Broken glass was scattered across every inch of the floor, and after half a second of looking, Sam realized why. The lights had exploded – absolutely nothing remained of the bulbs. The window was shattered, though stray pieces of glass still clung to the frames.

But that wasn't all that was broken.

Every single machine was cracked to pieces.

"Dean!" Sam screamed, scrambling to his feet. The room was already flooding with nurses, and one of them grabbed Sam's arm, trying to stop him from running to the bed.

"Calm down," she said, tightening her grip on Sam and trying to push him toward the hall.

Sam shook himself free easily. He was used to breaking free from demons and monsters – a human nurse didn't give him any trouble. Instead of running to Dean, though, he spun to face her, grabbing her shoulders and practically shaking her. "Those machines," he said, his voice low and urgent. "He needs those machines. They're the only thing keeping him alive. You have to-"

Sam's voice cut off, and not because of the nurse's continued urges for him to calm himself. It was because – for the first time – Sam had gotten a look at Dean.

Dean's eyes were open. He was thrashing on the bed, choked by the tube shoved down his throat. The nurses were all surrounding him, half of them trying to disconnect him from the variety of machines, the rest of them trying to hold him in down. It wasn't working. Dean was fighting like crazy, shoving everyone away, throwing weak punches at anyone who tried to get close. Sam could see the terror in every move that Dean made. Dean had just woken up in a strange place, and he didn't know what was going on yet, and he was going into a panic, reacting defensively, trying to protect himself. But he was awake and alive and he was _moving_ and he was even strong enough to fight.

"Dean," Sam said, letting go of the nurse and running to Dean's bed. Dean was still panicking, and didn't even respond to Sam calling his name. Sam quickly dropped to his knees beside Dean's head, reaching out to grab any part of Dean that he could reach and squeeze. "Dean, it's okay," he said, tightening his hand around Dean's upper arm. "You're in the hospital. They're trying to help you. Just stop fighting them, it's okay."

Dean stiffened, his head instantly turning to look at Sam. His eyes were wide. His breath was coming fast and erratic, and his entire body was rigid. Sam could still feel the terror radiating off his brother, but at least he was staying still.

One of the nurses got the tube out of Dean's throat. Dean gasped for breath, and the first word he said was, "Sammy!"

"It's okay," Sam repeated, squeezing Dean's arm again. "Don't try to say anything else yet, okay? Just let the nurses do their job, it'll be okay."

"Sir," a nurse said, touching Sam's shoulder. Sam ignored her, continuing to repeat assurances to Dean, who was watching Sam's face like it was a lifeline, and the only thing he had to hold onto.

"Sir," the nurse repeated. "You need to stay out in the hall."

Sam shook his head, not even bothering to look up at her. "I'm not leaving him."

"We're doing everything we can to help your brother," she said, and gave another tug on his shoulder, firmer this time. "But we need room to work. I'm sorry, all family has to wait outside."

Sam didn't want to go. Really didn't want to go, but after a second, he looked down at Dean. "I'll be right out there," he promised. "I'll be back the second that they let people in to see you, okay?" The nurse was still trying to urge him out, but Sam stayed where he was for another few seconds longer, watching Dean's face. Dean still looked dazed, and obviously still hadn't quite figured out where he was or what had happened, but he met Sam's eyes and managed to nod. Only then did Sam allow himself to be pulled from the room.

"What the hell is going on?" a voice demanded, and Sam looked up to see Dad rushing down the hall. He must have heard the noise, or sensed that there was a commotion going on.

"I don't know," Sam said truthfully. He didn't have a clue what had just happened, and he knew that that would worry him soon, make him panic about what could have caused this. But for now, though, there was only one thing he cared about.

"Dean's awake," Sam said, and despite everything, he couldn't help but smile. "Dean's awake. He's going to be okay."

* * *

><p>"So, you're saying that there's no sign of any damage at all?" Sam asked, looking up at the doctor from his seat by Dean's bedside. "I mean, he's completely fine?"<p>

The doctor nodded, though it was hard to tell how much she was really listening. She looked frazzled, like all of the hospital staff did. The whole afternoon had been a blur of activity – moving Dean to a new room, calling the police to try to investigate whatever had made the machines explode, even talk of evacuating the hospital until a cause was found. He could tell that it was getting to her, like her mind was on a million different things at once. Still, though, she must have heard his question, because she amended, "Or, it doesn't look as though there is any type of damage. We'll know more once we've gotten the chance to run some tests, but it appears as if Dean is in full health."

Dean nodded back, raising one hand and looking at it like he had never seen it before. "And you don't know what could've caused this?" he asked, his eyes flickering up to the nurse.

It was a trick question, and they both knew it. There was no way that Dean was actually expecting an answer. Even Sam didn't have a clue – there was no way that the doctor could figure it out, not unless she had some hidden history with the supernatural that they didn't know about. Sam doubted it.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, then said, "No, we're not sure. I've never heard of anything like this." She shook her head ruefully, and for a split second, her professional persona slipped as she said, "Call it a miracle, or some angel watching over you. It makes as much sense as anything that we could come up with."

Dean nodded again, his gaze returning to his hand, stretching his fingers out wider as he examined them. "Thanks, doc," he said.

She left almost immediately after that. Sam figured she had to have a lot more work to be done, especially considering what had happened today. And after all, there was no sense worrying about a patient who was somehow completely healthy.

"So," Dean said, as soon as she was gone. "You have any ideas?"

Sam shrugged and spread his hands. "Pretty much what she said," he told Dean. "Call it a miracle."

Dean made a face. "No such thing."

Yeah, Sam had been expecting that reaction. And, well, he and Dean disagreed about the "God" thing, but he did know that there was probably a more likely explanation for whatever the hell had happened in that hospital room. He didn't know what, though. Couldn't even make a guess.

"Whatever this was, we're dealing with something we've never even heard of," Sam said. "Something strong enough to heal you from the brink of death. That's powerful stuff, man."

"Not just that," Dean said, and held out his hand to Sam. "Check this out." Sam looked at it, but didn't understand what Dean was getting at. Not until Dean used his left hand to point to a spot at the base of his pointer finger, and said, "I tried to teach you how to use Dad's blade when I was eleven, remember? Cut my finger wide open, had to get like half a dozen stitches."

Sam made a face. He remembered that now. The stitches had been administered by Dad, in the bathroom of the crappy motel room where they'd been staying that week, while Sam curled up in the bed and tried not to listen to Dad telling Dean not to cry. All in all, it wasn't one of his better memories.

He understood what Dean was getting at now, though. The skin of his hand was completely smooth, with no sign that the cut had ever been there to begin with.

"See that?" Dean asked, and dropped his hand. "Haven't gotten the chance to check yet, but I'd bet you anything that the rest of me is the same. All the hunting scars- gone. And it's honestly starting to freak me out, so one of us had better come up with a way to fucking figure this out."

Sam frowned, and shook his head. "I don't have a clue what could have caused this," he admitted. "Hell, I'm wishing that I even had an idea where to start looking."

"So do I."

The words came from the doorway this time, and Sam turned to see Dad standing there, frowning at Dean with a look that almost looked like concern.

Instantly, Sam stiffened, and had to remind himself of all the reasons why he had to keep his mouth shut – the same ones he'd recited to himself earlier, and they weren't working much better now than they had earlier. Dean didn't seem to notice, though, because he just said, "So you've never heard of anything like this, either?"

"No," Dad said, stepping into the room and settling down into the second chair, on the opposite side of the bed than Sam. "I've never come across anything even close. We'll look, though."

"When?" Sam asked. "After we've finished hunting Azazel, or do you think you'll manage to squeeze in some time to figure out what happened to your son before that?"

Dad narrowed his eyes. "Don't start," he said sharply.

Dean just glanced back and forth between the two of them, his face torn between confusion and the longsuffering look that he always wore when Sam and Dad had a fight. Just seeing that was enough to make Sam feel guilty. He knew that Dean absolutely hated the fighting, that it made him miserable in a way that absolutely nothing else did. And Sam knew that he should try to cut it out, for Dean's sake if nothing else. But he couldn't make himself stop.

This time, though, Dad apparently didn't want to take it that far. "Would you mind getting me some coffee?" he abruptly asked, turning to Sam with his obey-or-else face plastered on. "There's a station down the hall. I saw it when I was walking here. Just grab me something caffeinated, will you?"

Sam scowled. "Why?"

John scowled right back, but all he said was, "Just do it, Sam."

Dean cleared his throat. "It'll just take a minute, Sam," he said, and Sam could hear the unspoken message. It was obvious that Dean wanted Sam to just do it, to not make this into a big deal and not piss Dad off. And considering that Dean had been dying just a few hours earlier, Sam really didn't want to do anything to make his brother and more freaked out or upset than he already was. That was really the only reason why he stood and nodded.

"I'll just be a minute," he said, and hell, even he wasn't sure if it was a message to Dean or a warning to Dad. He took one last long look at the two of them, then turned and left the room.

The coffee machine was farther than Dad had said that it would be. Sam had to walk down a few different hallways, until a nurse finally pointed him toward a waiting room at the front of the ward. Sam scowled down at the cup as he watched the coffee pour into it. He was pretty damn sure that Dad had purposely lied about there being a machine just down the hall because he knew that it would get Sam out of the room easier. He probably hadn't even had a clue where the nearest machine was.

Sam wasn't going to say anything, because he was going to be the bigger person for Dean's sake and all that. But that didn't mean that he couldn't be pissed about it.

Even so, it couldn't be more than ten minutes before Sam made it back to the room, coffee in hand. And apparently that was more than enough time, because when he got there, Dad was gone, and Dean was lying back with his eyes closed, looking like he'd been sitting that way for a while now.

"Dad's done talking with you?" Sam asked, setting the coffee onto Dean's bedside table.

Dean opened his eyes and shuffled until he was sitting more upright, not quite so slumped against the pillows. "Yeah," he said, and reached over to snag the coffee off the table. He took one sip, then grimaced and set it back down. "Man, this hospital shit is nasty."

"Sorry," Sam said. "Could've gotten you some sugar or something." He actually would've, if he'd known that Dean would be the one drinking it. Dean just shrugged, and pushed the cup farther away.

"So," Sam said slowly, "what did Dad want to talk to you about?"

Dean stiffened, and shook his head. Which was pretty much exactly what Sam had expected, really. "Nothing," Dean said, then amended, "Nothing important. Said he was glad I wasn't dead, stuff like that."

Sam nodded slowly. That was also pretty typical. It wasn't like he had expected Dad to confess that he'd been planning on going after Azazel instead of saving Dean's life, and Sam didn't plan on saying it, either – he wasn't cruel enough to hurt Dean like that, especially not while they were still in the hospital with no clue what had just happened. Dean didn't need that shit right now.

Instead, Sam asked, "Did you talk at all about- you know, before the accident? With Azazel?"

Dad had brought that up with Sam already, but only to throw it in his face that Dean would be awake and healthy if Sam had just shot Azazel while he had the chance. As if Sam hadn't already been thinking that same thing. As if he could think about anything else.

He really didn't want to have to decide whether he should have murdered his dad to save his brother's life. At least now Dean was awake and alive, so Sam didn't have to worry anymore about whether he'd done the right thing.

Dean stiffened, and his face closed off even more, until Sam was sure that he wasn't going to say anything about what they'd talked about. And sure enough, when Dean spoke, his tone was guarded. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I mean, we talked about it a little. Dad still says you should have done it." Sam didn't have to ask if Dean agreed. One look at his brother was enough to make it clear that even just thinking about their Dad dying was tearing him up. "And he says that I should've realized that he was possessed a whole lot sooner. That one, he's right about."

"At least you figured it out before Azazel got the Colt," Sam pointed out quickly, before Dean could start feeling bad about all of this. "That's something, right?" Dean just shrugged, not looking convinced. And when Sam thought back on the Dean's words last night – _He wouldn't be proud of me_ – he couldn't help but ask, "Did he say anything about _how_ you figured it out?"

Dean probably didn't know that Sam had heard that part. And he knew that Dean thought that – Dad wasn't exactly the type to say stuff like that to anyone, but especially not to Dean. But that was another thing that he had better have made right, while he and Dean were talking. He'd better have told Dean that it wasn't true.

"He mentioned it," Dean said shortly, his voice clipped, obviously not inviting any more discussion of the subject.

Sam asked anyway, though. "And? Did he say anything more about it? Or, tell you anything else?"

Dean looked away.

"No," he said. "No, he didn't really say anything about it."

* * *

><p>"Seriously?" Dean bitched a few hours later. "Can't we bust this place now? I'll walk right out of here like nothing's wrong. Nobody will even stop me!"<p>

Sam shook his head. This was the dozenth time that Dean had said this, so by now, he really should know the answer. "Bobby's on his way down here," he said. "Just give it another couple hours for him to get here, then he can give us a ride back to his place." That's where they were going to head next, so that they could get to work rebuilding the Impala, and stay there while they tried to research whatever it was that had healed Dean.

"Besides," Sam added with a grin, "all of your clothes are in the trunk of the Impala, remember? You really want to go hitchhiking in a hospital gown? That thing doesn't even have a back, does it?"

Dean scowled. "Shut up," he said, and reached over to punch Sam in the shoulder. Then, "What kind of shape is my baby in, anyway?"

Sam hesitated. "It's pretty bad," he said carefully, "but I'm sure you'll be able to fix it."

Dean frowned, his anger transforming to worry instantly. "What-"

A nurse entered the room before Dean got the chance to say anything else.

"Yes?" Sam said, looking up at her. Then he immediately frowned, noticing the worry etched on her face, and the way that she was biting her lip. "Is something wrong?"

"It's your father," she said, and Sam had just long enough for a bolt of worry to run through him before she continued, "He's missing. He's not in his room, and nobody has seen him in hours."

Sam jumped to his feet, ready to hurry down to the room to see what was going on. Dean did the exact same thing. "You sure you're good to be out of bed?" Sam asked, because he knew that Dean would get pissed over that, especially since he'd already been getting antsy about having to stay in the hospital for so long. But, well, Sam couldn't help but worry. Dean had nearly died that morning, after all. Sam didn't think he was going to be getting over that one any time soon. "Maybe you should stay here."

"Fuck that," Dean said at once, reaching behind him to make sure that his gown was tied in the back. "You know I'm fine. And this is Dad. I gotta come."

Sam didn't argue after that.

The room was empty when they got there. The bed was unmade, but the chairs were still exactly where Sam had left them earlier, and nothing was broken. No signs of struggle at all. Which meant that wherever Dad had gone, he'd gone willingly. Dad was too good of a hunter to get taken by surprised and not be able to fight back at all. If he'd been attacked, they would be able to tell.

Sam checked the drawer of the bedside table, and the little cabinet in the corner meant for storing their things, just to be sure. They were all empty. Sam had known that they would be.

Wherever Dad had gone, he'd taken the Colt with him.

"You think he just went out somewhere?" Dean asked, glancing over at Sam. There was a strange tone in his voice, and it only took Sam a second to realize what it was. He sounded hopeful, like he was actually thinking that Sam would say yes, Dad just popped out to get some food, he'd be back in a little bit and the three of them could keep hunting together, just like he'd wanted.

Dean almost sounded like a kid on Christmas – or, specifically, he sounded _exactly_ like he had back on that Christmas when Sam had first found out about Dad hunting monsters, and he'd kept insisting that Dad was going to show up for Christmas, even though Sam had known the whole time that it wouldn't happen, even when he'd gone along with it to keep Dean happy. Even then, he knew what to expect from Dad. It was the same thing that they could expect from him now.

Sam took another long look around the room, then slowly, he shook his head.

"No," he said softly, trying to break it to Dean easy, even though he knew that the volume wasn't going to make a difference. "No, Dean. I don't think Dad's coming back."


	2. Part 1, Chapter 1

**PART 1**

**CHAPTER 1**

_Two weeks later…_

Castiel tilted his head back, squinting up at the sky and trying not to let himself become distracted by the changes that the clouds underwent as the wind blew through them. Over the past week, Castiel had found himself continually becoming lost in thought, staring at various aspects of nature. Now, though, he needed to focus.

He tilted his head slightly to the side, and frowned.

"Hey," a voice snapped from beside him, and a second later, Castiel felt someone shake his shoulder. He blinked and turned to the man standing next to him. "You still in there?" the man asked.

Castiel frowned again, his forehead furrowing in confusion. "Yes," he finally said after a moment. "I am here. There is nowhere else for me to go." He wasn't quite sure why the man didn't know that – it seemed quite obvious to Castiel that he was not able to leave his body – but nonetheless, he had no problem with answering.

The man gave Castiel an odd look, as though there was something wrong with his answer, though Castiel didn't bother to question what the problem had been. Over the past week, he had grown accustomed to receiving odd looks. He decided that simply putting up with other people's judgment and confusion was easier than trying to figure out what he had done wrong.

The man just lifted his stake and tapped the end of it against Castiel's. "Then your break is over," he snapped. "We all gotta do our part."

Castiel nodded, and quickly stabbed a piece of trash beside his foot, then lifted his stake to push the trash into the plastic bag that he was carrying for this purpose. "I'm sorry," Castiel said sincerely. "You are right." He had been living for the past few days at a men's shelter provided by a church. In exchange for the food and shelter that they were given, the men were asked to provide various types of labor for the church. Today, they were picking up trash that had scattered across the grounds during the parish picnic that had been held the previous afternoon. As Castiel has been staying at the shelter for the past seven days, and had no plans to leave in the immediate future, it wouldn't be right for him to do less than his fair share of the work.

The man had already turned away, spearing his own pieces of garbage, but Castiel still felt compelled to offer an explanation, to make sure that the man knew that he had not meant to shirk his responsibilities.

"It was the angels," Castiel said, once again turning his face skyward. He wasn't entirely sure why he did that – he could hear the angels' voices no matter how he stood or where he looked. But for some reason, looking towards the sky made him feel more connected to them, somehow. Perhaps it was because people always pointed toward the sky when they spoke of Heaven, or perhaps it was for some other reason that he didn't know, but whatever the cause, Castiel often found his eyes pointing upward of their own accord.

"They're being particularly talkative today," Castiel added, then quickly clarified, "Well, they are often talkative, but particularly today. Their voices are fainter today than most days, though. I can barely make out what they're saying. It makes it very difficult to concentrate."

It wasn't as though Castiel could hear every word that the angels said. On his best days, he might hear a phrase or two, maybe even a paragraph of speech if he was lucky. Mostly, he was only able to make out a word here or there. Even so, he was generally able to make out the basic topic of their conversation. Today, though, it was eluding him completely.

The man once again had an odd look on his face, and more pronounced than before. "Whatever," he muttered, and quickly walked away.

It wasn't exactly an unexpected response. He had learned that most people became uncomfortable when he mentioned the angels, though he had yet to figure out why. He had had plenty of chances to observe this reaction, as he had made a point of mentioning the angels whenever possible. After all, it was clear that the angels were preparing for something important. The people deserved to know, so that they could prepare however they could.

He was swiftly learning that most people didn't want the information that he could provide, though.

Castiel returned to work, spearing bits of trash as quickly as he could to make up for the time that he had been staring at the sky. But he still kept one ear tilted upward, as if that would somehow make it easier for him to understand the distant voices.

"Castiel," a voice said from behind him, and this one was entirely human, with none of the otherworldly quality that the angels possessed.

Castiel turned, and saw Father Garcia standing there, his hands clasped in front of him and a pleasant smile on his face. Castiel recognized him instantly, of course – he was the priest who did the most work with the shelter – though he had not expected the priest to know his name.

"Yes," Castiel said after a moment, confirming that Father had indeed gotten his name right. "Is there anything that I can help you with?"

"Actually, I was hoping that I could talk to you in my office," Father said. He stepped back, toward the main building, and gestured for Castiel to follow.

Castiel glanced around at the amount of garbage that still needed to be collected, and frowned, the man's words ringing through his ears. It seemed wrong for him to leave when there was still so much to be done, but he also did not wish to disobey Father Garcia's wishes. After a moment, he nodded and followed, pausing only long enough to throw his plastic bag into the large dumpster, and to lean his stake against the side of the building.

Father led him into a small room over to the side of the building. It was modestly furnished, with only a few chairs, a single bookshelf, and a rickety desk that was scratched and nicked almost beyond use. On top of the desk sat a computer, though Castiel didn't know enough about electronics to say whether it was a newer model or not. Based on the other ancient furniture in the room, though, he assumed not.

Father carefully settled himself into the chair behind the desk, and gestured for Castiel to sit as well. Castiel lowered himself to perch on the edge of the chair across from Father and watched the man somewhat warily, waiting to learn why he had been brought here.

Father leaned forward, resting his arms so that they were flat along the top of the desk, his hands folded together. "You've been here for a week now," he began, studying Castiel from behind his rounded spectacles.

"Yes," Castiel said slowly, and inclined his head once. "If I have overstayed my welcome, then I will leave immediately," he added, and ignored the nervous feeling that rose up to accompany his words. He did not have the slightest idea where he could go, except to return to living on the streets, as he had for his first couple of nights last week. He would go, though, if he was no longer welcome here.

But the priest was already shaking his head. "No, no, that's not what I was saying at all," he hurried to say, leaning ever further across his desk. His eyes were imploring, like he wanted to make sure that Castiel knew that he was earnest. "I was just thinking that we haven't had the chance to talk yet."

Castiel relaxed somewhat. "Thank you," he said fervently. Sleeping on the street had not been a pleasant experience, and he was in no hurry to relive it.

Now that he was certain that he would not be cast onto the streets, his nervous energy was replaced with curiosity, and he asked, "Why did you wish to speak to me?"

"I've heard a bit about you from a few of the other men," Father said. "I thought that I should ask you how you ended up in this shelter, so that you can tell me in your own words. It sounds like an interesting story."

Castiel frowned at the word "interesting". In the past days, he had learned that most people used it when they were not truly interested at all. In fact, most people used it as a way to extricate themselves from an unpleasant conversation, as if expressing interest once gave them an excuse to walk away before they could hear anything more. Father Garcia, however, was watching Castiel's face closely, and looked as though he had meant his words.

"I woke two week ago in a strange room," Castiel began slowly, thinking his words out, trying to figure out the best way to phrase his story. "I did not know where I was, so I left the building. I did not have a place to go, so I lived on the street. After roughly a week, a man told me that I should come here, so I have been living here ever since."

"And you have no memories from before two week ago?" Father asked. His voice was calm, as if he were simply inquiring about the weather, or some other trivial topic. "None whatsoever?"

Castiel did not think that someone could know that simply from the things that he had just said, meaning that someone else must have already told Father this. Castiel did not mind, though. It was not as though it was a secret. "Yes," he said slowly, unsure of why he was nervous to confess this. Yes, he knew that it was an unusual situation, and most people had not reacted favorably when he told them. Still, though, it wasn't as though this was his fault. Even so, he couldn't stop himself from awkwardly rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture, his thumb and forefinger circling the spot on his left hand where, until recently, he had worn a ring. "I don't remember anything."

He must have had a life before last week, but it was almost impossible to imagine. It felt as though he had simply sprung into being seven days ago, as though he had never lived before that day.

Father nodded. "And?" he asked. "I've heard that there was more."

Castiel nodded. "I can hear the angels," he said carefully, watching Father's face closely for any signs of the distress that usually appeared on peoples' faces when he told them this.

Father, however, simply nodded again. "And what do the angels say?"

Castiel hesitated, utterly caught off guard by this question. In the past week, not a single person had asked him this – he usually had to try to make them listen, and was usually unsuccessful. Now that someone actually wanted to know, he wasn't entirely sure how to answer. "Bad things," he finally said.

Father Garcia smiled encouragingly. "Could you elaborate on that a bit?"

Castiel nodded, and tried to find the right words. "They speak often about a man named Castiel."

Father tilted his head, looking curious. "And what do they say about you?"

Castiel chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then admitted, "I'm not sure that they're speaking of me, exactly. In fact, I'm reasonably sure that they are not. I can't make out the details of who this Castiel is and what he has done, but I get the impression that he is also an angel, meaning that I couldn't be the one that they speak of." He paused for a moment, then added, "I hope that they are not speaking about me." For one, it would be a frightening thing to be the subject of an angel's focus. But more than that, he could tell from the way that the angels spoke that they intended harm for this Castiel they spoke of – or possibly they had harmed this Castiel already, it was hard to tell. Either way, he did not wish to be the one being spoken of.

"So you were named after this angel, then?" Father asked. "The one that they're speaking about?"

Castiel considered that, and finally said, "In a manner of speaking, yes." Father gave him a questioning look, so Castiel elaborated, "I heard the angels speak the name Castiel, and liked the sound of it. I'm not sure what drew me to this name over the other names that they spoke, but it seemed like a good thing to call myself. It… fits me better than the name that they tell me is mine."

Father Garcia looked hard at Castiel, his eyes almost squinting from the force of his stare. "And what name was that?"

Castiel thought of saying it aloud, but instead, he drew the wallet from his pocket and removed the license from the center compartment, then slid it across the desk so that Father Garcia could see the name JAMES ROBERT NOVAK printed on it. The wallet had already been in his pocket when he had woken, which was lucky, because otherwise he never would have remembered to bring it. It had taken him almost two days to realize that he even had it, and that it contained quite a bit of money. He had used some of the money, but there was still quite a bit left, since there had been an emergency stash hidden in one of the billfolds, which he hadn't found until after he was already staying at the shelter. It made him feel better to know that he had it. One of the other men who stayed here had ever explained the purpose of the credit card in one of the billfolds.

Father Garcia studied the card for a moment, then passed it back to Castiel. "Are you sure that this isn't your name?" he asked. "Because the picture certainly looks like you."

Castiel looked down at the license for a moment before returning it to the wallet, and had to nod in agreement. "I'm sure that this must be my identification," he acknowledged. There was no denying that, not with the striking resemblance between himself and the man in the photo, and the fact that he had been carrying it. "It could be an alias, though," he added after a moment. He wasn't sure why he would have a fake ID with him, but then, there was quite a bit that he didn't know. What he did know for certain was that that was most definitely not his name.

He wasn't particularly concerned with it, though. There were several other things that he needed to focus on instead, such as learning more about what the angels were saying, and trying to figure out why they kept repeating certain names again and again.

Father Garcia was still watching him, but now his face looked sadder than it had before. Castiel couldn't quite tell if it was a new emotion, or if Father had felt sad this whole time and was only now showing it. Either way, there was something else mixed with the sadness, something that Castiel thought looked almost like concern.

"Castiel," Father began after a moment, with the tone of one who was about to impart important knowledge. "You know that…" His voice trailed off, and he looked as though he was searching for the correct words. Finally he settled on, "I have faith that there are angels are watching over us."

Castiel interrupted quickly, to dispel that assumption. "I don't think that the angels are watching over us. Or, not humanity in general, at least," he clarified. "There are two humans that they mention repeatedly, and seem to be keeping a close eye on them." He paused for a moment, thinking over the things that the angels had said, and added, "I don't think that I would want to be either of those men. Being the focus of and angels' attention seems more dangerous than anything else."

"Castiel," Father said again. He took a deep breath. "I believe that angels exist, whether they are watching over us or not. But I also know that humans can't speak with them."

"Well, technically I don't speak _with_ them," Castiel said. "They speak, and I listen."

Father did not say anything to that, and Castiel frowned. The questions had led him to think that Father trusted him, in a way that nobody else had. Now, though, he realized that Father's interest had sprung from a wildly-different source.

"You think that I'm crazy," Castiel said. He did not bother to make it a question.

"Not crazy," Father said at once. "But sometimes, people have problems that need to be worked out, mentally speaking."

Castiel did not respond. He didn't see what the difference was. Either way, it was clear that nobody believed him.

Father scooted his chair closer to the desk, leaned closer to Castiel. "We can try to get you help," he said, his voice low and earnest. "You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need, until you recover your memories. And in the meantime, we can try to find out where you've come from." He gestured toward the computer. "Why don't we begin by looking up the name James Novak, to see if that offers us any leads. We might even be able to find your family."

Castiel looked down at his hands, not meeting Father's gaze. If he looked closely, he could just barely make out a pale line across his fourth finger. He had given the ring to a woman he'd met on his second night on the street. She had been the one to tell him that it could be of value, and to suggest that he sell it to earn money. Considering that it had been her idea, it only seemed fair that she should be the one to profit. And she had had a teenage daughter that she was trying to care for, both of them living on the streets. Castiel had only had himself. He had not needed the money quite so badly.

The woman had told him that the ring signified that he was married, or had been at some point. But that was ridiculous. The moment that she'd said it, he'd known that it couldn't be true, just as he knew that his name couldn't possibly be James. It was as though the knowledge was a part of him, sunk deep enough that even his lack of memories couldn't dispel it.

Maybe he had siblings, though. He couldn't remember who they were, or even if he truly did have any, but he felt as though he did. So he could look for them, he supposed. But he didn't think that he would be able to find them.

Instead of saying that, though, Castiel asked, "How do you plan on doing that?" His curiosity had won out against his desire to keep the facts straight, especially considering that the facts were going to be quite bent no matter what Castiel did, considering that Father didn't believe that Castiel was telling the truth.

Nobody believed what he said. It was almost enough to make Castiel wonder if he could be hallucinating, after all.

But no, the angelic voices were as real as that of Father Garcia. Castiel was certain of it.

Reasonably certain, at least.

"We can look you up online," Father said, with another gesture to the computer, which didn't do much to clear up the matter as far as Castiel was concerned.

Still, Castiel squinted at the computer, and after a moment of staring, he decided to hazard a guess. "You ask the computer questions, and it will give you answers?"

Father nodded. "I suppose that that's one way to say it, yes."

Castiel narrowed his eyes further, not looking away from the monitor. "Fascinating," he said, and he was talking both about the purpose of the computer, and the fact that he himself had not known that before. It was endlessly interesting to realize that he knew many facts about the world, but was missing several crucial bits of information. He might know the name of a thing, but not how to use it. He couldn't even begin to guess why that might be.

"We'll start by searching for the name James Novak, since that's the one on your ID," Father said. "Hopefully we'll be able to find something useful. And who knows, maybe we'll even find some pictures that can jog your memory."

Pictures. Castiel was still holding the wallet, and now he opened it up, thumbing out the small picture that had been almost hidden in the billfolds. The girl in the image was blonde, and was smiling at the camera. Castiel didn't have any experience with children, so it was impossible for him to guess her age, but even he could tell that she was young. But her face was completely unfamiliar to him. He might as well be looking at a picture on a billboard, or at one of the strangers that he passed on the street.

He had stared at the image for a long time, over the course of many nights on the street, wondering if she could possibly be his family. But he knew that she wasn't. She couldn't be. He felt nothing for her, not even the slightest stirring in his memories. He didn't know why he would be carrying her photograph, but he thought that it had to be the same reason that he was carrying a license that called him by a fake name. It was likely that he had been mascaraing as a fake person, with fake pictures to back up his story.

Or maybe he really did know this girl from somewhere. He didn't know which possibility frightened him more.

Castiel pushed the picture back into the billfold, and closed the wallet. "I don't think that looking at pictures will help me to remember anything."

"We can try, though," Father encouraged. "And you never know what might turn out to be helpful. Sometimes just being around things that you used to know can make a difference."

Castiel didn't look up, and didn't respond.

"Lunch is going to begin in a few minutes," Father suddenly said, his voice abruptly sounding gentle. "You've been working all morning, and anyway, you look as though you need a bit of time to think this over. Why don't you come back to my office either tonight or tomorrow morning, and we can take a look, see what we can find?"

Castiel nodded, because he didn't know what else to do, then stood to exit. His mind was whirling with the things that he had just been told.

He wasn't vain enough to think that he knew better than the rest of the world. Doing so would imply that he was somehow better than everyone else, and Castiel knew that he was no so special. In which case, how could he be certain that the angels really did speak to him? Perhaps the others were right, and Castiel was having some sort of mental problem. It wouldn't even be terribly surprising, considering the memory loss that he had already undergone. If anything, it seemed like it might even be the reasonable explanation.

No matter how he thought it, though, he couldn't make himself believe it. He knew – he simply _knew_ – that the angels were speaking to him.

But that no longer felt like it was enough. He needed some sort of proof, if not for other people's sake, then for his own.

He mulled it over as he lines up to receive his tray of food, and as he wandered over to sit at a random table filled with men that he had never seen before, and during the first half of their meal time. No matter how he thought, there only seemed to be one solution.

"Where can I find a computer to use?" Castiel asked suddenly, drawing the men's eyes toward him. He supposed that he could ask Father Garcia for permission to borrow his, but he would prefer to do this on his own, if at all possible. It would be difficult to focus if someone who thought that he was mentally ill was standing over his shoulder the entire time, even if that person was someone as nice as Father Garcia.

For a moment, nobody answered. Then one of the men a few seats away said, "Public library's just a couple blocks down the road."

"Thank you," Castiel said sincerely. "How do I find this library?"

The man gave instructions, which Castiel carefully filed away in his mind. Then he stood and dumped the last bits of his food into the trash can.

The men generally worked for a few hours after lunch, then had time off for the rest of the evening. Castiel was afraid that he'd have to skip the remaining work. There was no chance that he would be able to focus until he found answers, anyway. If Castiel chose to return to the shelter after doing his research, then he would immediately go to Father Garcia to apologize, and ask to perform extra work tomorrow in order to make up for it.

Castiel was no longer so sure that he was going to return, though.

The library was easy enough to find, even if the man's directions had been a bit off. It was only ten minutes before Castiel was walking up the wide, stone staircase and pushing open the double doors. Once inside, he wasn't entirely sure what his next step should be. The librarian noticed his confusion, though, and offered assistance that ended up being invaluable. Within only a few more minutes, Castiel was seated at a computer, staring at a web page titled "Google" as the librarian returned to her desk, giving him one last instruction to bring her any more questions that he might have.

Castiel hesitated for a moment. Even though he knew what he had come here to do, he wasn't entirely sure how to go about it. Then he squared his shoulders and typed, _How do I find someone?_ He only hesitated for a moment before hitting the search button.

That led him to over a billion results. He blinked, surprised. He had expected one answer that would clear up all of his confusion; he had not prepared to have to sift through so much information. Still, he wasn't about to give up now, so he took a deep breath and clicked on the first result.

The text on the screen declared that he simply needed to enter the name of the person that he was searching for, and it would provide him with the necessary information. Castiel clicked on the white box that seemed to have been provided for his purpose, then thought for a moment before typing, _Dean Winchester._

Castiel had heard that name repeated multiple times over the past week, whispered and shouted by the angels at all times of the day and night. No other name was mentioned more, not even the name Castiel, except for possibly the name of Sam Winchester. Castiel assumed that the two were related somehow, and that finding one would be the same as finding the other. He only hoped that he had spelled the name correctly.

Because the only way that Castiel could know for certain that the voices were real was if he verified the information that he learned from them. If it turned out that Dean and Sam Winchester didn't actually exist, that would mean that the voices were simply a figment of his imagination, feeding him lies and fueling his delusions. In which case, Castiel would immediately begin seeking treatment options, to do whatever it took to make his mind work properly.

But if there truly were a Sam and Dean Winchester, then that would mean that Castiel could trust the voices. It would also mean that he could learn about them, to try to figure out why the angels took such an interest in their existence in the first place.

Whatever path his search took, Castiel was certain that he was going to learn something important by the end of it.

But first, he needed to find Dean Winchester.


	3. Part 1, Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Finding the information that he needed was more difficult that Castiel had anticipated.

The computer was filled with many resources devoted to helping one track someone down, but none of them were remotely useful in his search. For one, there were a multitude of results when Castiel entered Dean Winchester's name, which he had not expected – it had not occurred to him that there might be multiple people in the world who carried that name. He found more information than he ever could have asked for, including a variety of home addresses, several phone numbers, and an article that spoke of a serial killer who had been murdered a few months ago. The problem was that he couldn't tell which of the dozens of Dean Winchesters was the one that he was searching for. Looking for Sam Winchester's name proved to be equally frustrating.

He wasn't about to give up, though, so he returned to his original search – _How do I find someone?_ As he had noted when he'd first asked that question, there were over a billion results for him to sift through. The first website may not have been helpful, but he was bound to find something, if he searched for long enough. Castiel settled back into his chair – sensing that this was going to take him a while, so he might as well make himself comfortable – and clicked on the next result. Reading through every single result was tedious, especially since most of the pages were completely useless, but Castiel refused to give up. He was determined to continue until he found something useful.

He was on the thirtieth page of results when he suddenly leaned forward, squinting at the screen. The page he was looking at was morbid, with a black background and splotches of red along the side that looked like bloodstains. The content of the text was centered around witchcraft, and Castiel had been preparing to skip to the next result, but he had figured that he might as well skim through the text, just to be sure.

That was when his eyes had landed on the Latin chat.

Castiel stared at it, his mind automatically providing a translation, even though Castiel wasn't sure where he had learned Latin. He must have picked it up at some point in his past, though, because he understood every word.

He also suddenly had the overwhelming sense that the spell was real.

He leaned ever closer to the screen, scrolling back up to the top of the page so that he could read the entire text again, carefully this time. And somehow, the more that he read, the more that he grew certain of its legitimacy. He couldn't explain it, except that there was something familiar about it, as if he had known it at some point. And maybe he had. Maybe he'd performed spells back before he had lost his memories. Considering that he was here because he was trusting the words of angels, witchcraft didn't exactly seem odd to him.

"Excuse me," a voice said from behind him. Castiel started in surprise, and spun around in his seat. The librarian was standing over him. He hadn't heard her approach.

"The library is closing now," she said. "You're going to have to log off."

"Oh." Castiel frowned, and glanced out the window, realizing for the first time that darkness had already fallen. That meant that he must have been sitting here for eight or nine hours, which would explain why his entire body felt so stiff and sore, and why his stomach was growling.

He supposed that he should be upset that it had taken him such a long time to find any information that was even remotely useful, but he wasn't. He had planned on taking as much time as necessary, after all. Given the wide plethora of information that the computer had provided him with, he supposed that he should be grateful that it hadn't taken him even longer. The only thing that upset him was that he had to leave so soon after finding something useful, especially since there was no guarantee that he would be able to find this page again.

"Is there any way that I could take this information with me?" Castiel asked, gesturing toward the computer screen without much hope. "It really is extremely important."

The librarian gave the screen an odd look, looking as though she didn't know what to make of the bloodstains that decorated the background of the page, but she nodded. "I'll print out this screen for you," she said. "Fifteen cents a page."

Castiel immediately agreed, and the librarian leaned forward to click some buttons on the computer, which Castiel didn't understand. But a minute later, she was handing him several sheets of paper with the information that he wanted printed across it in black and white, so Castiel considered his search to be a success, even if the pages did cost him a dollar to print.

Once outside, he paused under the nearest streetlight to read through the last of the pages. The farther along he got, the more certain he felt that this spell was precisely what he was looking for.

Now, all that was left was to perform it.

* * *

><p>It wasn't terribly difficult to find a store that was still open at this time of night, and since there was still had quite a bit of money in the wallet, obtaining the necessary ingredients was even easier. Luckily, the spell didn't call for any exotic ingredients. The power lay within the chant itself; the other materials were simply a conduit for the magic to move through. Or, at least, that was what the pages claimed.<p>

He exited the store with his bag in one hand, and immediately turned to head to the back of the store. He hadn't seen anyone back there, and it was a semi-private area where he was unlikely to be observed. It seemed like as good a place as any to perform the spell.

He knelt in the dirt behind the store, laying his bag beside him, then pulled out the book of world maps which he had purchased. He flipped through the pages until he found a map of the United States, then ripped it out and placed it on the ground in front of him. He had no way of knowing whether the Winchesters were within the United States or not, but it would be easier for Castiel if they were in the same country, so that was what he hoped. Plus, the spell indicated that the spell worked better when one used a map that covered a smaller distance, and though the United States was quite large, it at least was smaller than a map of the entire world. Any anyway, if the Winchesters were in some other country, it would be simple enough to repeat the spell on different maps until he found them.

Next, he produced the book of matches that he had purchased. He took a deep breath, then struck a single match and held it over the map holding it over the map as he recited the Latin that he had hastily committed to memory. The information that he'd read about the spell had emphasized the importance of clearly picturing the person who you were trying to find as you performed the spell, in order for the results to be accurate. Castiel did not know either of the Winchesters, which made this step a tad difficult, but he repeated Dean's name again and again in his mind, trying to focus his thoughts on everything that the angels had ever said about this man.

He could feel the power building within him, and when he dropped the match onto the map, the flame flared much higher than Castiel had been expecting. It was an effort to keep himself from flinching away.

The map burned away in a matter of seconds. For a second, Castiel feared that the entire paper had turned to ash until he lit another match and used its light to help him search. And sure enough, lying on the ground before him was a single scrap of pink paper which read Montana in black letters across the front of it

The match burned out, and Castiel quickly scrambled to light a second one, then flipped through the book in search of a Montana state map. He found one just as this next match reached its end, and ripped it out as well.

The words flowed easily from his lips as he performed the spell a second time. This time, he was expecting the rush of power that swept through him, and the burst of flame that rose up. This fire burned a tad bit slower than the last, and once it was gone, this scrap of paper was even harder to find. Castiel made his way through five matches in his search for it, and was honestly beginning to worry that the scrap may have been lost, or that the spell had gone wrong somehow.

Then he found it. A scrap of paper, barely the size of Castiel's thumbnail, just big enough for the word Woodloch to be written on it.

Castiel couldn't help but grin his success, though he did hurry to scramble to his feet before anyone could come to investigate the flames and find him here. But he did not think that there was anything that could contain his excitement at that moment.

He had a location. He had found where Dean Winchester was, and now he only needed a way to get to him, but that could be arranged. What was important was that he had found him, and it was looking more and more as though the angels really existed. Castiel wasn't yet sure whether that was a good thing or not, but he couldn't help but be relieved that he wasn't completely insane.

Or, he didn't know that for sure yet, but at least it was looking as though he had his sanity. That was more than he would've been able to say this morning.

He still needed more proof before he could say for sure, though. Meaning that now, Castiel needed to actually speak with this Dean Winchester, just to be absolutely certain that he was real, and to discover how the truth of the man matched up to the vague things that the angels said about him, most of which Castiel didn't fully understand.

The next step seemed clear. Castiel needed a way to get to Montana.

* * *

><p>That part of Castiel's plan also ended up being a bit more difficult than anticipated, but he managed in the end.<p>

He suspected that he would not be able to find a mode of transportation in the middle of the night. And even if he could find one at this time, that would require him to first wander around the city in search of transportation, which did not strike him as the best plan. He considered returning to the shelter, just for the night, but something about that struck him as wrong as well. If he relied on their hospitality for one last time, he would feel guilty about not remaining to help with the chores in order to repay them. And seeing as he already felt a small burst of guilt over the fact that he had no intention of speaking with Father Garcia again – despite the fact that Father clearly wanted him to – Castiel thought that it was best to remain on his own and not increase the weight on his conscience.

This led to a very long and uncomfortable night spent lying on a concrete sidewalk in an area that did not strike Castiel as being particularly safe, but nobody bothered him, and he managed.

Finding transportation did not turn out to be much of a problem once daylight came and the streets swarmed with people. Castiel simply took to approaching people who looked as though they would react kindly and asking how he could travel to Montana. His first few inquiries weren't particularly helpful, but then a nice woman pointed him in the direction of the nearest train station, which turned out to only be a three-mile walk from where he stood. Several hours and an incredibly frustrating ticket-buying procedure later, and Castiel was boarding the first of the trains that he would need to take. This train would take him to a larger city, where he had successfully preordered a ticket for a different train, which would take him as close to Woodloch, Montana as possible. The city did not have a train station of its own, but once Castiel was in the nearest city, he should be able to catch a taxi that would take him to where he needed to go, though he had warned that the fare would likely be pricey.

The credit card in the wallet had proven to be invaluable during these proceedings, and Castiel was increasingly grateful that he had been carrying it in his pocket when his memories had been lost, even if he felt a bit wary of spending large amounts of money when he wasn't entirely sure where it came from. He only hoped that the money truly was his, which seemed to be a reasonable assumption, all things considered. Even so, he felt a bit guilty as he signed the name "James Novak" across the receipts.

He was feeling guilty about quite a lot lately. He wasn't particularly happy about that, but there didn't appear to be anything that he could do about it.

He arrived in Woodloch around five o'clock that evening. His travels had taken quite a bit longer than he had wanted, but supposed that he could only hope that Dean Winchester was still somewhere within this city.

Of course, now that he had finally arrived, he still needed to actually find a way to track down this Dean, whoever he was. Which would be a bit difficult, considering that Castiel didn't have the slightest clue what the man even looked at. He did think briefly about trying to find another map and working the spell again, but the town was small enough that he wasn't sure if anyone had even created a map of it. He supposed that he could ask the computer again, but he wasn't quite in the mood for another ten-hour search for useful information. He supposed that he might have to, though, as he didn't know where else to go.

For the moment, though, he just wandered down the street, as if Dean Winchester would magically appear and introduce himself if Castiel just waited patiently enough.

He did not meet Dean while he was wandering, which wasn't a surprise. He did, however, encounter something very interesting.

There was a woman walking in the same direction as Castiel, her arms filled with piles of paper. A few of her pages happened to fall from her arms as she passed by, which was lucky. Otherwise, Castiel might not have noticed her at all.

"Excuse me," he said, hurriedly grabbing the papers from the ground and rushing after her. "You dropped these," he said, holding them out for her to take. As he did so, he happened to glance at the paper, and then found himself staring. The word MISSING was printed across the top of the papers in bolded letters. Beneath them was a picture of a teenaged girl, smiling up at him from the image. Castiel hardly had enough experience to accurately judge someone's age, but even so, he was reasonably certain that she couldn't be older than seventeen or eighteen.

"Your daughter?" Castiel asked after a moment. It was unlikely that the girl was anyone else, considering the intense resemblance between her and the woman in front of him.

The woman swallowed and nodded. "Went missing last night," she said, and her voice sounded as though she were choking down tears. Now that Castiel was looking closer, he could also see that her eyes were red, as though she had been crying. "Hasn't been gone for that long, but I know she wouldn't just leave without at least texting. I… Something must have happened, I know it."

"I'm very sorry," Castiel said sincerely, but didn't know what else to do after that. It wasn't as though any words could make her feel better. So instead, he squinted down at the paper for a moment, committing every detail of the photograph to memory, then said, "I will look for her, and I hope that she is found quickly."

"Thank you," the woman said quietly, then turned and walked away without another word.

It was about twenty minutes later when Castiel happened across his next interesting piece of information.

He hadn't eaten since about eleven that morning, since he'd bought a late breakfast at the train station and then not bothered to eat anything for lunch, and his stomach soon began to grumble fiercely. Castiel pulled out the wallet and – after ensuring that a sufficient amount of money remained – ducked into the nearest building that looked as though it would sell food. It turned out to be a small café that offered a variety of coffees and sandwiches. Castiel studied the menu for a moment, but did not recognize the majority of the options, so he simply ordered the cheapest items, then stepped to the side to wait.

That was when he saw the newspaper, which was lying on one of the unattended tables. THREE MYSTERIOUS DEATHS IN THE PAST WEEK, the headline proclaimed. Castiel frowned and stepped over to take a closer look.

Three people had gone out at night and never returned. They had all been found a few days later, with puncture wounds on their necks and no blood in their bodies. There seemed to be no connection between any of the victims, other than the fact that they were all dead now.

Castiel's thoughts instantly went to the woman from earlier. No wonder she had been so worried about her daughter's disappearance.

It didn't take longer than a minute for Castiel to skim the rest of the article. There wasn't much information, though Castiel got the impression that it was because there wasn't much information to be told. It talked a bit about the victims' families, and then ended with a warning that nobody should walk around Pine Croft park after dark, as two of the victims had disappeared from there, and it was suspected that the third victim may have been in the same general area at the time of his disappearance as well.

Castiel did have to wonder why people would continue to frequent the park at night after the first disappearance, let alone continue to do so after three people had turned up dead. But then, the article did state that the Park was a "breeding ground of immoral behavior among teenagers". Castiel wasn't quite sure what they meant by that, but perhaps that explained why so many people seemed intend on continuing to visit the park after dark.

Castiel still couldn't understand it, though. You'd have to be positively moronic to visit a place where people were constantly being kidnapped and killed.

Which was, of course, the reason why Castiel found himself entering the park just as the sky began to darken.

He knew that it was an absolutely insane thing to do. There was no reason to think that he might be able to do a thing to help, should the need arise. Really, it was more likely that he would end up as the next victim, a random body found dead on the side of the road in a few days' time, and nobody would even know who he was. That thought alone should have been enough to make him turn around and seek a safe place to stay for the night – particularly since he had come here for such an important reason. It was quite possible that he was one of the only people – if not the only person – who could hear the angels, meaning that he was the one who had to find the Winchesters and figure out exactly what the angels wanted with them.

Castiel knew all of this. And yet, when Castiel had happened to see the park while he was wandering the street with no particular destination, he didn't hesitate before he turned and headed in that direction.

The park was large, and despite the warning, there must have been at least a few people wandering around the park, because there were three cars parked outside of it – a large red car, a smaller black one, and one that was so large and oddly shaped that Castiel wasn't quite sure if it was a car at all, though he wasn't sure what else he should call it. There was a sand pit near the parking lot, with a play area that looked as though it had been designed for children. Beyond that, it was nothing but grass and trees and hills, with a small stream that ran through it. It appeared to stretch on for quite a ways, and though the land was mostly flat, there were quite a few trees that obscured one's view. Castiel couldn't help but think that if you were going to murder someone, this would be a very good place to do it, especially if there were teenagers already coming here to do inappropriate things.

And once he had had that thought, Castiel was immediately sure that he couldn't leave. Whatever things the teenagers had come here to do, they didn't deserve to be murdered because of it. Castiel may not be able to do much, but he did feel as though he at least had to try.

He wasn't quite sure where this desire to save people had come from, but he felt as though it was a core part of his personality, which was interesting. With his memories gone, he felt as though he were still learning about who he was, one piece at a time. And apparently he was someone who was willing to give quite a lot in order to save someone else's life. That was good to know.

Despite the size, Castiel didn't think that it'd be particularly difficult to find the other people in the park. It was a still night, with no wind whatsoever. There wasn't a single sound, other than the muffled thud of Castiel's footsteps and the occasional rustle as a raccoon or some other type of creature moved past. Not even the angels were speaking at the moment. If Castiel saw any movement, or if he heard any noise louder than that of the animals, then it would have to have been caused by a person.

He did, however, think that he should have been smart enough to buy a flashlight before deciding to come looking for a killer. Although, he supposed that a flashlight would give his position away, and the moon was bright enough that the extra light wasn't strictly necessary. But still, it would have made him feel better to have it.

It also would have been much better if he'd thought to bring a weapon.

Castiel cursed himself. He had completely forgotten the need for a weapon. Or, maybe not forgotten, exactly. It was more like he had assumed that he already had one with him, like he was so used to carrying it around that he'd forgotten that it wasn't there. And Castiel wasn't sure where _that_ particular feeling had come from, but a quick search of his pockets revealed that he held nothing except the wallet, which he had known already. He was dressed in a simple pair of black pants and a white button up shirt that had long since grown dirty to the point where he almost couldn't wear it any longer. They were the only clothes that he had, as he had been wearing them when he'd first woken in that hotel room, and he had been wearing them for over a week now. There was no room to conceal a weapon, and even if there was, Castiel was sure that he would have found it already.

So. He had decided to come to the place where a serial killer likely lurked, and he had not even thought to stop off at a store and purchase a knife that he could use to defend himself – and others – if necessary. That hadn't been the smartest decision that he could have made.

Castiel stood there for a moment, debating whether he should try to find a place that was still open at this time of night and purchase some form of a blade – even a kitchen knife would be better than nothing. He had just decided to head back to the parking lot and try to find such a store when he saw it.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to look. There were two young girls standing under a nearby tree, talking in voices too low for Castiel to hear. One of them was fairly tall, and looked like she was in her later teenaged years – though that was a rough estimate, considering that he was not good at judging ages at the best of time, and this girl was almost entirely concealed in shadow. He was, however, able to tell that the second girl had to be at least three or four years younger than the first. And whatever their actual ages, he was certain that they were too young to be out in the park at night, particularly with the danger of a killer on the loose.

Castiel frowned, then took a step closer to them. And now he couldn't leave, because he would worry for the entire time that he was gone that one or both of them would become the newest victim. Two young girls alone at this time of night seemed like the perfect targets. Weapon or not, Castiel felt obliged to stay here and see if he could keep them safe.

He was aware that if either of the girls saw him, they would likely panic, thinking that he was the killer. He wasn't, obviously, but it would be difficult to convince the girls of that, considering that he was a man who was watching them in the middle of the night. He thought that it would be best to avoid causing them that fear, and so he hung back a few dozen feet, far enough back that he was unlikely to be seen, but close enough that he could still watch them.

And it was lucky that he did, because barely a minute passed before the attack began.

The two girls had been swaying closer and closer to each other. From the looks of it, the older girl was saying something, and the younger girl was listening intently, though of course Castiel couldn't tell for certain. But the older girl bent down as if to whisper something in the younger girl's ear, and at that moment, a man came racing out from the shadows.

Castiel couldn't see much about the man, other than that he was alarmingly large and cloaked in shadows. But he could see the knife that the man had clutched in one hand.

The younger girl screamed and turned to escape, smart girl. The older of the two didn't move at all – she seemed paralyzed with fear.

Castiel also began to run, rushing straight for the man. In a far off part of his mind, a voice – his own, not one of the angels' – was telling him that rushing a man who was twice his size was suicide, but Castiel honestly didn't care what that voice had to say, and it didn't make him hesitate or slow down. Maybe he couldn't win, but he could slow the man long enough that the girl got away, at least. And hopefully she would stay safe, and not sneak around at night and invite danger again.

The man swung the knife for the girl's chest, and Castiel pushed himself to run harder, but he still had twenty feet to go and he could see the knife getting closer and closer to the girl's chest. She wasn't doing anything to defend herself, she wasn't even moving, and Castiel wasn't going to make it in time, the girl was going to-

The girl caught the man's wrist with one hand and twisted. He didn't drop the knife, but he cried out in pain. He was pushing hard against the knife, trying to close the last inch or so and slam it into her chest, and though it was obvious that the man had to be much stronger than the girl, the knife didn't so much as move.

A second later, the man was slammed up against the closest tree, and the girl was digging her teeth into his throat.

Castiel stumbled. It was only for a moment, and then he caught himself and kept running, but now his mind was racing with information. The victims had all been killed by bite marks to the neck, not a knife to the chest. And nearly all of them had been teenagers.

Castiel only had a moment to collect his thoughts and decide what to do, so it was a good thing that he thought fast. Two seconds later, he slammed his body against the girl's and sent her stumbling away from the man.

They each only needed a moment to regain their balance. Castiel stiffened as he faced her, his body tense and ready for a fight. The girl appeared to be the polar opposite. She was calm, as if this happened every day – and maybe, for her, it did. She tilted her head and regarded him with interest, but no fear.

She didn't look human. Not anymore, if she ever had. Her teeth had extended into long points – no wonder she'd been able to bite through the man's flesh so easily – and her eyes had a serpentine quality to them.

Castiel stared at her, shocked, for only a moment. But a moment was long enough.

She sprung at him, closing the space between them before he even knew what was happening. He barely managed to bring his hands up in time, which was the only reason that her fangs didn't bite through his skin right then. But it was close. Her mouth snapped only an inch from his throat, her hands flying up to grab his shoulders and hold him in place, but he squirmed away before she could hold him. He stumbled back, colliding against the tree where the other man stood.

"The knife," the man gasped. His voice was slow. It didn't sound as though he was in any pain – it sounded more as though he were on the verge of falling asleep. Frankly, that was more worrying than pain would have been.

Castiel didn't dare to take his eyes off the girl for even an instant, so he couldn't look over to see what the man meant. But he felt it when the man pressed the blade of a knife into his hand.

The world sharpened. Castiel spun the blade around in his hand, then lifted his arm, the blade of the knife pointed downward, toward the girl's heart. That had been where the man had aimed, so that would be where Castiel aimed as well. The girl was not human, and perhaps it was possible to kill her in the normal, human ways, but Castiel would not take the time to experiment. He would thrust the knife into her heart, and once that was done, he was going to turn to make sure that the man was okay, and then he would demand to know exactly what was going on.

First, though, he had to kill the monster.

She made another grab at him, and he dodged back. He had seen the way that the man's strength had not even come close to matching the strength of the girl. So Castiel wouldn't try to take her on in that way. He would need to get close enough to stab her without getting close enough to allow her to grab him, because if she did, then it was very likely that he would not be able to get free.

He swung the knife downward, toward where her breast had been only a moment earlier, but she was already gone. Already behind him. He spun around, bringing his knife down in another swing, and another miss.

They were circling each other now, wary.

"You did better than the other one, I'll give you that much," the girl said, with a dismissive nod toward the man. He was sitting now, leaning his back against the tree, one hand covering his neck and his breaths coming in sharp gasps. "But you're still going to die."

"Doubtful," Castiel said. He took a step toward her, closing half the distance between them.

"I wouldn't be so sure," she said. "I've faced hunters before. You're not so special."

Castiel didn't know what that meant, but now wasn't the time to ask.

Another step forward, and another swing. This one, she dodged easily, as if she had been waiting for it.

She rushed him, her hands once again going for his shoulders, to try to grab him and hold him in place so that she could bite. From the way that her eyes flickered to his hands, she was clearly expecting him to swing again, and was prepared for it.

Castiel flipped the knife in his hand, changing the direction that the blade was pointing, and stabbed upward.

That, clearly, had been a surprise. She jerked away, and managed to avoid a fatal stab to the heart, but the knife still bit through her skin, leaving a long slice through the center of her chest. She screamed.

Then she was on top of him.

It had been a mistake, one that he'd been stupid to make. He'd expected to have more time before she recovered. He'd been prepared for the next swing of the knife to be the last, and had expected her to die before she'd overcome the pain enough to fight back.

He'd been wrong.

He was slammed to the ground, his back against the grass and her weight on top of him. Blood oozed from her cut chest, dripping down onto Castiel's shirt. He'd managed to get the knife up, and held it between them, trying to push it up into her chest. The knife was close enough to her skin that the tip of the blade touched the fabric of her shirt, but he couldn't push it any farther. It only took one hand for her to hold his hand in place. The other hand was on his shoulder, and though the knife was holding her at bay for the moment, he knew it wouldn't last long. Any second, she was going to move his arm and then sink her teeth into the side of his throat. He was certain of it. And he was equally certain that there was nothing that he could do to stop it, though he wasn't going to stop fighting, regardless.

Her hand tightened around his wrist, and a second later, his hand was pushed aside and slammed against the ground, hard enough that the knife fell from his hand. He brought his other hand up to her face, struggling to push her away. She just reached up and caught his wrist, her long fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to cut his skin and bring a drop of blood beading to the surface, and then his other hand was pined as well.

She lowered her head to his throat. He closed his eyes and tried to buck her off of him, but his struggles were pointless. He could not get away, and he knew it, even as he attempted to fight.

Then she stiffened, and didn't bite down.

Castiel opened his eyes. The girl was frozen above him. She'd lifted her head, and he could see that her eyes had widened in shock and pain.

That was the first thing that Castiel noticed – the eyes. It was only a few seconds later that he realized that she had been stabbed through the back, hard enough that the point of the knife was sticking out through the front of her chest, straight through her heart. The girl still lived, though. She was gasping, agony written across her every feature. Her head kept twitching to the side, as if she was trying to turn her neck and see who had stabbed her, but she was so weak that even that effort was beyond her. And Castiel thought that he should be wondering that same thing, that he should look up and try to see who had done this, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her face.

Then the knife twisted to the side.

In an instant, he girl began to shrivel. It was the only way to describe it. Her body grew brown and wrinkled, as if all of the moisture had been sucked from her with amazing speed. A second later, there was nothing left of her except for a crumpled corpse that barely even resembled the girl – the monster – that she had been.

Castiel gasped frantically for breath, shoving the corpse off of him and rolling away from it as fast as he could, because that was the quickest way that he knew to put as much distance between himself and that _thing _as possible.

"Are you okay?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

Castiel took a deep breath, trying to force his panicked breaths to slow. "I'm fine," he said, and strangely enough, it was true. He had been terrified, yes, but he was already beginning to calm somewhat. Considering how close he had come to dying, he was pretty sure that he was supposed to be far more traumatized than he felt.

He opened his eyes, and instantly realized that the question had not been meant for him. There was second man crouching in front of the first, carefully supporting him and examining the bite marks on the first man's neck. The second man had clearly been the one to speak, and had been addressing the question at his companion.

As soon as Castiel spoke, though, the man looked over at him. In the darkness, Castiel couldn't see much of his features, but he could see the smile on his face. "Good," he said, before turning back to the first man. "Come on, let's get you to the car."

The first man nodded, but made no indication that he was going to move any time soon. The second man stood and bent to wrap his arms around the first man's shoulders, saying, "Come on, Sammy, up you go. We've gotta get out of here and get you all bandaged up."

"Yeah," the first man – Sammy – gasped, and this time, he made a slight attempt at lifting himself off the ground. Even with the other man's help, it was still largely unsuccessful.

"Here," Castiel said quickly, and scrambled to his feet. He took a moment to grab the knife from where it had fallen. He didn't know what to do with it, so he just held it loosely in his left hand as he went to wrap his right arm under Sammy's shoulders. With two of them helping now, they managed to haul Sammy to his feet and keep him upright as they began the walk to the parking lot, though he swayed with every step, as though he were going to collapse at any moment.

"Are you sure that you're alright, uh, Sammy?" Castiel asked, stumbling a bit over the name. But the way that he was acting worried Castiel. He tried to search his mind for any information that he had on the effects of bite wounds, and couldn't come up with anything useful, except for a vague feeling that he should not be acting this way.

"It's Sam," he said, and it took Castiel a moment to realize that he was talking about his name. Sam stumbled then, and Castiel and the other man had to tighten their grips on him in order to keep him upright. Sam took a deep breath and righted himself, then added, "It's just the venom."

Castiel frowned. "Venom," he repeated slowly.

This time, it was the nameless man who answered. "Yeah," he said, like he was surprised that Castiel didn't already know this. "Vetala venom will mess with you for a bit. It'll knock you unconscious if you get enough of it, and make you act all drugged up like Sammy here if you don't, but it doesn't last for all that long."

Castiel just stared. The man looked over and met his eyes, then asked, "Wait, you didn't know what the Vetala was? What, did you just rush into a fight without knowing what you were dealing with?"

"Yes," Castiel said, because he decided to be honest, and that was exactly what he had done. Hearing it spoken out loud, though, it did sound foolish.

"Huh," the man said, and snorted. "Hear that, Sam? This guy didn't even know what he was fighting, and you were still the one that got your ass whooped the hardest."

"Shut up," Sam grumbled, weakly. His words were slightly slurred. "I thought that you were going to be there to back me up, you know. Where were you?"

"Taking care of the other one," the man said.

Castiel stiffened. "There was another one?" he demanded. "Where is it?"

"Dead," the man said simply, and didn't add anything else. After a moment, Castiel decided that that was a sufficient response.

They reached the parking lot a moment later. The nameless man led them over to the black car and unlocked the passenger side door, and together, the two of them managed to wrestle Sam inside. Sam did very little to help this process, but he didn't fight them, either, so it wasn't terribly difficult.

The other man tilted Sam's head to the side, using the light from the inside of the car to examine the bite wounds closer. "You're fine," the man decided after a moment, though he shrugged off the plaid shirt he was wearing over a gray tee shirt and pressed it against Sam's neck. "Keep pressure on that. I might have to stich you up a bit when we get back to the motel, though."

"Great," Sam said, though Castiel didn't know why he would be excited about the prospect of having stiches sewn into his body, particularly somewhere as sensitive as the neck. Sam certainly didn't sound happy about it, despite his words.

"Don't worry about it," the other man said lightly, giving Sam a squeeze on the shoulder. "Good news it, that Vetala drugged you up enough that you probably won't even feel it."

Sam didn't respond. He just sighed and leaned back against the seat, his eyes sliding closed.

The other man closed the door to the car and locked it, then turned to Castiel. "Think you could check the RV by yourself?" he asked. "I don't really want to leave my brother alone when he's so out of it."

Castiel frowned. There were several things that he didn't understand about that sentence, but he decided to start with the most obvious thing. "RV?"

"Yeah," the man said. "The RV over there." He gestured to the large vehicle that Castiel had noticed earlier, the one that looked as though it was too large and oddly-shaped to be a car. "They had to be keeping their victims somewhere close, and the police have searched the whole park without finding anything. Makes sense that they'll stick their vics in a car or something, drive them away during the day and then drive back here when they want to go hunting."

Castiel still didn't quite understand, but he trusted that the man's logic was sound. He was the one who knew about the Vetala, after all, whereas Castiel hadn't known what he was dealing with until after the thing was already dead. "You think that some of the victims may still be alive?" he asked, trying not to let himself become hopeful. He didn't want to set himself up for disappointment, but if they hadn't all been killed yet-

The man was already nodding. "They like to feed slowly," he said, as if that explained everything. Then he added, "I'll just go check it out myself."

"I can go," Castiel said quickly, feeling a bit guilty that he hadn't moved to go to the RV already.

The man shook his head. "I'll get it," he said. "You stay here, okay? I think that there were only two of them, and they're both dead, but still. If anything does show up, you don't let it anywhere near Sammy, alright?"

Castiel nodded at once, and switched the blade over to his right hand, holding it tight so that would be prepared to strike in an instant. "I promise that nothing will touch him."

The man looked surprised at the suddenness of Castiel's movement, or perhaps he hadn't expected Castiel to be quite so willing to defend his brother. Either way, the man said, "Yeah, I'd believe that. I saw the end of your fight earlier. Good job on that, by the way, especially if you didn't know what you were dealing with."

Castiel didn't know what to say in response to that, which was fine, because it turned out that a response wasn't necessary, because the man immediately turned and headed for the RV. It appeared as though the door was locked, which apparently didn't bother the man in the slightest. It only took a minute for him to get the door opened, and then he disappeared inside.

Castiel remained at his post, wondering who exactly these people were, and how they knew these things. Sam appeared to have fallen asleep, though, and Castiel didn't want to wake him and bother him with these questions, and so he held his tongue.

The other man returned only a moment later, but now, he was holding a small figure in his arms. She was wrapped in a blanket, but even so, Castiel immediately recognized her as the girl from the MISSING posters that he had seen earlier.

"Get the door," the man said, and tossed his keys at Castiel, who managed to catch them and unlock the car, and then opened the back door so that the man could slide the girl inside.

"She was the only missing person that I know of," the man said, "and the only one in there. She's lost a lot of blood, but she'll be fine. We'll swing by the hospital and drop her off on the way to our motel."

Castiel nodded, and glanced at Sam. He still had his eyes closed, and his face was unnaturally pale, though Castiel thought that they might have something to do with the odd-colored light coming from the streetlights above them. Even so, he asked, "Should we take your brother to the hospital as well?"

The man shook his head. "Nah, I can patch him up. He didn't loose enough blood that he needs a transfusion or anything."

The man certainly seemed confident of that, but still Castiel couldn't help but worry. "Are you certain? He doesn't look well."

"It's fine," the man said. "Trust me, if Sammy needed a hospital, I'd get him to the hospital, but the bites aren't so bad. We're used to this kind of stuff."

"Who are you?" The question escaped before Castiel could hold it back, his curiosity bubbling to the surface and overflowing, until he couldn't prevent the question from coming out, even though he knew that there were other things that they should be talking about.

The man didn't seem to think that this was a poorly-timed question. Or, at least, he answered calmly enough. "Dean Winchester," he said casually, "and that's my brother Sam. And you are…?"

Dean was obviously waiting for Castiel to say his name in return, but Castiel was struck silent.

They were Dean and Sam Winchester. The men that the angels had been speaking of, the ones that Castiel had traveled here to see. Now that he knew the truth, he couldn't believe that he hadn't realized it earlier. He'd known that the Winchesters were somewhere in this town, but it hadn't occurred to him that these could be the men he was searching for, not even when he'd learned that the taller one was named Sam. Now, though, it made a startling amount of sense. Of course the angels would talking about people as strange and extraordinary as these two. Why wouldn't the angels have an interest in two men who killed monsters?

"You okay?' Dean asked. Castiel supposed that there must have been something odd about the look on his face, to warrant such a question.

"I was looking for you," Castiel said, instead of answering the question. Which probably wasn't something that he should have just blurted out of nowhere, but he still felt as though he wasn't quite thinking as clearly as he should be. He guessed that that had something to do with the near-death experience, though if he was being honest, he'd say that meeting Dean and Sam Winchester threw him off guard more than the discovery the monsters were real had.

Now that he thought about it, he should've been more surprised by that, shouldn't he have? He didn't know why, but for whatever reason, it had hardly bothered him at all.

Then again, he was now reasonably sure that the angels were real, so why shouldn't monsters exist as well?

Dean gave him an odd look, staring at Castiel like he didn't quite know what to make of what he had just said. Then he glanced at Sam and the girl in the backseat, and said, "Well, you found us. Climb in next to the girl, we can talk at the motel."

Castiel nodded. Again, he wasn't entirely sure what was going on. And again, he decided that the best course of action was just to do as Dean had said. So he headed around to the backseat and opened the door, but before he could climb inside, he heard Dean say, "Wait."

Castiel glanced up. Dean was on the other side of the car, preparing to get into the driver's seat, but right now, he was staring at Castiel intently from over the top of the car. "I don't know you," he said. "Hell, I don't even know your name, and I'm not exactly in the habit of giving rides to random hunters. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt because you protected Sammy back there, but don't try anything, okay?"

Castiel didn't know exactly what Dean meant when he said "try anything", but he could hazard a guess, at least. So he nodded and said, "I will do nothing to harm either yourself or your brother, I can promise you that."

Dean looked at him for a moment longer, then nodded back. "Okay," he said and climbed into the car. Castiel followed suit, and as soon as the doors were closed, Dean took off.

Castiel studied the brothers as they drove down the road, presumably heading for the nearest hospital. They were much different that he had expected, he thought, squinting at the back if their heads, which he could barely see in the dim light from the streetlights that they drove under. Then he smiled


	4. Part 1, Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

The girl was shaking, and clearly on the verge of panicking, so Castiel reached over and tentatively touched her shoulder. "It is alright," he told her, seriously. "You are safe. We will take you to people who can patch your wounds, and nothing will harm you again."

He could not tell if his words were helping at all, but they didn't appear to be hurting, and so he kept up the stream of reassurances the whole time that they drove. And it must have been comforting, because at one point she moved to lay her limp head against his shoulder, and he hesitantly switched to patting the top of her head. He wasn't used to physical contact – come to think if it, he couldn't think of the last time he had touched someone, aside from fighting the Vetala and helping Sam walk to the car – and he felt awkward and uncomfortable the entire time. But if it helped the girl at all to be comforted, he was not going to deny her that.

At one point, he saw Dean glance over his shoulder at the two of them. Castiel couldn't quite read the expression in Dean's eyes – Dean turned back around too quickly for that – but he had the feeling that it had been something good.

They pulled into the hospital parking lot. Dean parked the car about a hundred feet from entrance to a place that proclaimed itself as the emergency room, which Castiel thought was odd, considering that there were several spaces that were closer. But before he could comment, Dean asked, "Do you think you can carry her? She looks like she'd trust you more than me."

"Yes," Castiel said at once. The girl was small; she couldn't have been much more than five feet tall. Castiel could easily manage that amount of weight. But he added, "I'm not sure what to do with her once I'm inside. I have never been to a hospital before."

Dean turned around, surprise evident on his face. "Never?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Castiel said honestly. "Have you?"

Dean snorted. "Way too freakin' much," he said darkly, then added, "It's okay, I'll go with you and handle the talking." He reached over and patted his brother on the arm, and asked, "Hey, you going to be okay out here for five minutes?"

Castiel had thought that Sam was still asleep, but now he squirmed slightly in his seat and said, "Yeah, I'm fine." The tone of voice he used made Castiel doubt the truth of that statement, but Dean seemed satisfied, so Castiel decided not to argue, either. Instead, he exited the car and moved around to the door closest to the girl, and carefully lifted her into his arm. She weighed almost nothing, or at least it seemed that way, even though logically he knew that she must be around a hundred pounds at least.

"You are okay," he reminded her, as she made a pained sound at the movement. She nodded weakly and closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

The moment that the entered the emergency room, the nurses sprang into action. It was less than a minute before they were wheeling a bed into the lobby. Castiel laid her down carefully, and added one last "It will be alright," for her sake. Then they wheeled her off down the hallway, and there was nothing more that he could do for her.

"What happened?" the receptionist asked.

Thankfully, Dean answered, just as Castiel had hoped that he would. "I don't know," he said. "My pal Alex and I were driving back to my place when we suddenly see this figure on the side of the road. We pulled off, and there she was!" He gestured to Castiel, who guessed that he was supposed to be the friend Alex in this story, so he dutifully nodded.

"You don't know anything else about her condition?" she asked.

"Nothing," Dean confirmed, "except that they look like some pretty nasty bite marks. I don't know, maybe she was attacked by a dog or something?"

"Or a snake," Castiel added, thinking of the way that the Vetala's eyes had looked, and the fact that Dean and Sam had said that it was venomous.

Judging by the way that Dean looked at him, though, that was too close to the truth, and Castiel hadn't been supposed to say that. But Dean just nodded. "Yeah, or a snake."

"I'm going to call the police," the receptionist said. "You'll have to wait until they get here so that you can give your statement."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said politely, and the nurse smiled at him before heading to the front desk.

Castiel's stomach rumbled softly. Now that he thought about it, it had been hours since he had eaten. He glanced around. There was a vending machine in the corner of the room, and he headed toward it. If he and Dean were going to stay here until the police arrived, then he may as well eat in the meantime.

He had used a vending machine once before, during the days before he had arrived at the men's shelter. A woman who had also been living on the street had taught him what to do, in exchange for a few of the dollars that a passerby had given him. So now, Castiel pulled the wallet out of his back pocket and opened it, to remove one of the dollar bills that he knew was inside.

"James Novak, huh?" Dean asked, his voice coming from directly over Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel turned, surprised – he hadn't realized that Dean had followed him over. "What?" he asked. How had Dean possibly known that name?

There turned out to be a simple explanation. Dean pointed to the wallet, and when Castiel glanced down, he saw that the license was clearly displayed, with James Novak's name written in letters large enough that Dean would easily be able to read them.

"Unless that's a fake name," Dean said casually.

Castiel frowned. "Why would it be a fake name?" he asked. Because it was – or, at least, he knew that it wasn't _his_ name – but he had not expected Dean to know that.

Dean shrugged. "Lot's of hunters use fake names," he said. "Hell, I've got a ton of them."

That did make sense, especially considering how easily Dean had called him "Alex" earlier, despite not having a clue what Castiel's real name was.

And Dean still didn't know his real name. Castiel thought that he should rectify that immediately, and opened his mouth to say that the name on the license was indeed fake, and to give him his real name.

He didn't get the chance, though, because a second later Dean was already saying, "Now come on, Jimmy, let's go."

Castiel frowned. "Jimmy?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "What, you don't like the nickname or something?"

Castiel opened his mouth, then closed it, not quite sure what the proper response to this way. "No, it is alright," he finally said. "But-"

"Well, okay, then," Dean said. "In that case, move your ass, Jimmy, before the nurse comes back. We'll stop somewhere on the way to the motel, I'll buy you a burger or something. It'll be way better than the shitty vending machine food."

"I thought that we had to wait until the police arrived?" Castiel asked, glancing back at the receptionist, who was talking to someone else now.

Dean had the look on his face again, as though he didn't understand Castiel at all. "Of course we're not," he said. "Come on, this'll be a good time to sneak out, she's not looking."

Dean turned to leave without waiting to make sure that Castiel followed, though he did pause after only a few feet and glance back at him. Castiel nodded and slid his wallet into his back pocket again, then followed.

"You do this a lot," Castiel said as they approached the car. He didn't make it a question. It was obvious that Dean knew exactly when was the best time to leave the emergency room without being stopped, and exactly what lies he should tell to people.

"Victims get hurt," Dean said simply. "You learn the best way to get them help without getting caught up in all the questioning."

"When the girl's treatment is finished and they question her, she's going to tell them a different story that what you told them," Castiel pointed out.

"And by then, we'll be long gone," Dean said. He turned and pointed up at a small white box on the top of the hospital entrance, which was slowly swiveling back and forth. "And I made sure to park where the camera can't get a good look at the car, so they won't be able to track us down."

Camera. Castiel mentally repeated the unfamiliar word in his mind, and couldn't help but wonder at the life that he must have lived before his memories had been lost, to make him wake up with words like car and street and lost, but to be missing words like camera and RV. Now wasn't the time to think about that, but still, he wished that he knew what could have possibly caused those gaps in his knowledge.

"You're new at this hunting thing," Dean remarked as they climbed into the car.

Hunting. Castiel wasn't entirely sure what Dean meant by that. He knew the definition – to kill wild animals or game, usually for meat or sport – but considering that no animals had been harmed that night, Castiel thought that Dean had meant a different definition. Unless that monster had counted as an animal.

Castiel must have waited too long before responding, because Dean turned to him and asked, "You are a hunter, right?"

Now that he thought about it, the Vetala had called him a hunter as well. And Castiel had been trying to kill the monster today, so he supposed that yes, he had been hunting it, in a way. "Yes, I'm a hunter," Castiel said slowly, and wondered if it was a lie or not.

Dean nodded. "Figured you'd have to be, if you're looking for me and Sam," he said, and climbed into car.

Castiel had the feeling that the reason that he was looking for them was vastly different than anything that Dean had imagined, but he didn't say that. Not yet, at least. He just climbed into the car and settled into the backseat as Dean drove off.

* * *

><p>Dean did stop quickly to buy food, just as he had promised that he would. He asked Castiel what he wanted, but Castiel didn't know, so he just told Dean to order him anything. So Dean ordered three hamburgers, and a salad. "For Sam," he added to Castiel in way of explanation. "He's gonna need to eat something when he wakes up."<p>

"I'm awake," Sam slurred. Castiel could barely understand what he was saying. "And McDonalds salads are disgusting."

"All salads are disgusting," Dean countered.

"You couldn't have chosen someplace better?" Sam complained.

"You try someplace better that's open at ten o'clock at night," Dean said, then added, "Besides, I'm the guy that's going to be stabbing a needle in your neck in about five minutes. If I were you, I'd be nice to me."

"Bitch," Sam muttered under his breath.

"Jerk," Dean shot back, and sounded quite happy as he said it.

These two were confusing Castiel more and more the longer that he traveled with him. He couldn't believe that they would even bother to stop for food when Sam had venomous bite wounds in his neck that still needed to be treated, let alone that they would have a conversation like this while they were waiting for the burgers to arrive. He was beginning to realize that Dean had been telling the truth when he said that they dealt with injuries like this often.

Dean ate one handed as he drove them to the motel. Castiel ate in the backseat, and discovered that hamburgers tasted incredibly good. Sam took a single bite of his own hamburger, then made a face and dropped it back into the bag, muttering something under his breath that Castiel couldn't hear, but which sounded derogatory.

Dean shook his head. "Just shut up and eat your frickin' salad."

Sam didn't respond to that. Castiel was reasonably certain that he'd fallen back to sleep.

They didn't say anything for the rest of the ride to the motel. It wasn't until Dean was parking the car that he glanced back at Castiel again and said, "I know that you wanted to talk about stuff, and honest, I've got some questions for you, too. But I'm going to get Sam patched up first, okay?"

Castiel blinked. "Of course," he said, surprised that Dean even felt the need to say anything. Castiel had just assumed that that would be the case, given the state that Sam was in.

"Okay, good," Dean said.

Getting Sam into the motel room was slightly easier than getting him to the car had been. The venom didn't seem to be wearing off yet – which wasn't surprising, since it couldn't have been more than half an hour since Sam had been bitten – but he seemed to have learned to compensate slightly, at least. And the distance that needed to be traveled was shorter, which was another reason why it was easier. Even so, it took both Dean and Castiel together to half-carry Sam into the room and sit him down on the closest bed, where he sprawled backward against the headboard.

"Ugh," Sam groaned, tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling, allowing Castiel to get a closer look at his neck. Sam was no longer holding the jacket against it, revealing four puncture marks that were still bleeding a bit, though not nearly as much as they had been earlier. Even so, Castiel could see why Dean believed that it would require stiches. "Being drugged sucks," Sam announced after a moment.

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed. He walked over to a duffle bag that had been thrown into the corner of the room and began rooting around inside it for a moment before pulling out a first aid kit and heading over to sit on the bed beside Sam. He pulled out a needle and said, "Hold still."

There was a table over against the wall opposite the bed. Castiel perched on the edge of it, watching as Dean carefully sewed up the gashes in Sam's neck. Sam's eyes remained closed the entire time, and though he gritted his teeth a few times, he didn't move or make a noise during the whole procedure. Castiel couldn't tell if it was because the venom in Sam's system had some numbing affect on the pain, or if Sam's pain threshold was just exceptionally high. Either way, it wasn't long before Dean had tied off the thread. Castiel thought that that was the end, but then Dean retrieved a bottle of whisky from the mini fridge and returned to Sam's side. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice tight. Dean opened the bottle and poured a small stream of the alcohol over Sam's wounds.

Sam let out a low hiss, his hands clenching around the bed sheets and his face crumpling with pain. Then he took a deep breath. "I'm good," he said, before Dean got the chance to ask. Because Dean was worried – even Castiel could see that, so it wasn't surprising that Sam would be able to tell, even with his eyes closed.

Sam took another deep breath, then opened his eyes and turned to Castiel. "Thanks," he said. "For saving me back there. Don't think I ever said that."

For a moment, Castiel just stared at Sam, surprised. "Of course," he said, a repeat of the words that he had spoken to Dean earlier, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. After a moment, he decided to add, "I'm sorry that I did not arrive before she had bitten you." Although, considering that Castiel had originally assumed that Sam was the murderer, it was likely a good thing that Castiel hadn't gotten there in time.

"It's fine," Sam said.

"You said you were looking for us," Dean suddenly said. He settled down at the foot of Sam's bed, and took a swig of the whisky, then held it out toward Sam. "Want some?"

Sam made a face. "We don't actually know that much about Vetala venom, Dean," he said. "I don't think mixing it with alcohol is a good idea."

Dean just shrugged. "Your loss," he said, taking another drink. Then he turned back to Castiel and added, "Why?"

It took Castiel a moment to realize that Dean was asking about why he had wanted to find them. Which was a very good question, and Castiel still hadn't quite decided how to answer it. "I have heard about you," he began, which was the truth.

"Really?" Sam looked surprised – or, at least, as surprised as someone could look when he seemed as though he could barely force himself to keep his eyes opened. "Like what?"

What hadn't Castiel heard, really? A multitude of details ran through his head – all of the words that the angels had spoken in relation to Sam and Dean Winchester. Most of the information was vague, but it was still enough to give him a place to start, at least.

"Azazel," Castiel began. "I have heard about Azazel."

Dean's posture changed in an instant. His back straightened, his shoulders stiffened, and he turned to glare at Castiel, and Castiel suddenly found himself almost frightened by the mere thought of saying another word. Sam, meanwhile, just blinked blearily at Castiel. Either the name did not have the same meaning for him as it clearly did for Dean, or else he was simply too exhausted to react as his brother had.

It must have been the former, because Sam's face grew steadily more confused as he glanced from Castiel to Dean. "Who's Azazel?" he asked after a long moment had passed.

That was a good question, one that Castiel wasn't entirely sure how to answer. He had heard the angels whisper the name, their voices filled with disgust, and often at the same time that they spoke the name Sam Winchester. From the things that they said, Castiel thought that this Azazel wasn't quite human – or, if he was a human, then he had done something to earn a burning hatred from the angels as a whole.

There was one piece of information that Castiel could share, though. He didn't think that he was supposed to know this bit. Or, he likely wasn't supposed to hear anything that the angels said, but this had been particularly secretive. He had been awake when they'd first spoken it at midnight almost four days ago, and had curled up in his cot, pulling his sheet over his head to try to muffle the noises of the men around him, to block out all earthly noises and focus entirely on hearing the angels share their secrets. Even then, he had barely been able to hear.

It was the information that had caused him to seek out the Winchesters in the first place.

"He has children," Castiel said slowly. "Or, he's collecting them."

Collecting. That was the actual word that an angel had used to describe whatever was happening. The angel had said that the children that Azazel had collected were beginning to grow stronger. And then it had said that Sam Winchester was still the strongest.

The angels used Azazel's name many times, but that had been the only time when it was used in connection to a sentence that Castiel had been able to understand, instead of just being a random word that was repeated again and again. It was also one of the only concrete pieces of information about the Winchesters that Castiel had managed to overhear.

"What?" Sam and Dean said together, with Sam's voice lagging a beat behind, likely due to the grogginess that the venom had caused.

Castiel nodded. "Sam in one of them," he added, and then found himself immediately looking toward Dean, to see what his reaction would be. Dean had clearly been the one to know something about Azazel before this, and hadn't seemed to want Castiel to say anything about it, which made Castiel instantly worry that he had somehow betrayed a secret that Dean had been trying to keep.

Dean was sitting completely still. He didn't move at all, aside from the slight rise and fall of his chest. Castiel took that to mean that yes, he had somehow just said something that he had not supposed to have.

"One of Azazel's children," Sam repeated, like he was working it out in his mind. His lips moved again, once again forming the words "one of", though he didn't say it out loud. His forehead furrowed, and he thought about it for several seconds. Castiel could see the exact moment that Sam suddenly realized something, because he shot upright, immediately turning toward Dean. "Wait. Is Azazel the one who killed Mom and Jess?"

Dean's jaw clenched, and he didn't answer.

"Dean," Sam said, in a dangerous tone, which was tampered by the fact that he was swaying dangerously, and had to once again lean back against the headboard of the bed in order to keep himself upright. "How did you know its name?"

"I didn't," Dean said quickly, and looked over at Sam. Sam was glaring at Dean, his face the very definition of fury, at least in Castiel's opinion. The fact that his eyes had a slightly-glazed look about them didn't lessen the effect at all.

"You recognized the name when he said it," Sam said, briefly lifting one hand and waving it vaguely in Castiel's direction to show who he meant, then allowing it to drop limply to his side. "How did you know the name?"

Dean quickly looked away, his eyes dropping down to his hands for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, and said, "Dad told me. Back before he left the hospital."

Dean glanced back at Sam. If he had expected this admission to lessen Sam's anger, then he would be disappointed. If anything, Sam looked even angrier now than he had before.

"Dad told you something about the demon, and you didn't tell me?" Sam demanded.

"Give me a break," Dean said, his voice going defensive. "I'd just woken up from being on the brink of death, I wasn't exactly thinking clearly."

Sam made a noise. He didn't sound happy, far from it, but he seemed to accept that. "What else did he tell you?"

"Nothing," Dean said at once. Sam raised his eyebrows, and Dean insisted, "Nothing! Come on, I'd tell you immediately if I found out something important."

"Not if dad told you not to," Sam said.

Castiel frowned to himself as watched the brothers argue, though he was barely paying attention to the words that they said. There was something in the back of his mind, something that nagged at him, as though he knew something that was important, but which was just barely out of his reach.

"Why would Dad tell you something like this, and not me?" Sam continued, before Dean got the chance to speak.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, and he said, "Damned if I know."

"What, does Dad not trust me to join the hunt anymore?" Sam asked, sounding thoroughly offended and angry by the very idea. And maybe it had to do with the fact that they had been speaking of their father so much, or maybe it was simply because Castiel was thinking so hard about it, but suddenly, he remembered.

"John Winchester," Castiel said. He had spoken the words softly, more to himself than to either of them, but it instantly made both Dean and Sam look toward him. Castiel cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable at being the object of their stares, and amended, "Your father. John Winchester."

"You know our dad?" Dean asked.

Did he? "Yes," Castiel said, even though he wasn't so sure. But then, he wasn't sure of anything. It had been more than a week since the last time that he had ever felt certain about anything, because in all the time that had passed since he had woken with missing memories, he couldn't think of a single instant where he had been sure of anything, aside from the fact that he knew that he had to figure out the truth about whatever was happening to him and to the Winchesters.

"Do you know where he's been this past week?" Dean asked. "Or how to reach him?"

"Doesn't matter," Sam said. "We're not calling him."

Dean turned to Sam, looking as though he couldn't believe that Sam had just said that. "What-"

"I said it doesn't matter, Dean," Sam insisted, his voice hard, as though he were leaving no room for argument.

Dean stared at Sam for a moment, then slowly turned back to Castiel. "Hey, Jimmy, do you think that you could give us a minute?"

It took Castiel several moments to realize that he was the one that Dean was referring to when he spoke that name – because that was right, Castiel never had corrected him after he'd made that assumption at the hospital, and Castiel really should say something about that. But then Dean made a motion with his hands as though he were shooing him away, and Castiel suddenly realized that he wanted to be left alone with Sam.

"Yes," Castiel said quickly as he stood. "I need to go urinate," he added after a second, both because it was true, and because it gave him an excuse to leave the room and head for the bathroom, which was connected to this room, but also far enough away to offer the brothers a modicum of privacy.

It also gave Castiel the privacy necessary to try to gather his thoughts, though it did little good.

After he had finished urinating, he stood in front of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror, trying to read the secrets out of his own eyes and discover who he had been. At some point in his life, he must have known John Winchester, since the name had come back to him when he had begun trying to think about the man. But the name seemed to have been all that Castiel knew – or, at least, it was the only thing that he remembered.

Still, though, it was progress. He had never before received a hint of a memory, let alone a concrete detail such as this. And he got the feeling that it was caused by being around Sam and Dean – which made sense, if he had somehow known John before the loss of his memories. And Castiel had only known the pair for little over an hour. Perhaps if he stayed with them for longer, more of his memories would begin to come back.

Somehow, Castiel found that doubtful. But he could still hope, at the very least.

Castiel took one last deep breath, then turned and opened the door a crack, preparing to rejoin Sam and Dean. He paused for a moment, though, wondering if they were done speaking privately, or if he should give them more time. Which was why he heard it when Dean said, "You can't possibly be thinking of working with this guy?"

"He knows about Azazel, and he knows Dad," Sam said. His voice sounded weary, as though the fight was taking its toll on him, although he also sounded like he wasn't going to stop fighting until he had won.

"Yeah, but if he can't help us find Dad, then what's the point?" Dean asked.

"We're not finding Dad," Sam insisted. "Besides, if we can get help from someone who'd helped him hunt Azazel before, then we don't need him."

"Seriously, what happened with you two?" Dean asked, his voice making it almost more of a demand.

Sam said nothing. The silence stretched for a long minute.

It was only then that Castiel realized that he had been eavesdropping, which was exactly what the Winchesters had asked him not to do. He stepped away from the door, intending on heading toward the back of the bathroom, where it would be more difficult to overhear. Or perhaps this would be a good time to take a shower, as his skin still felt as though it were crawling in the places where the Vetala had touched him. Although, that wouldn't do much good, considering that he had nothing to wear except his bloodstained clothes, which were streaked with dirt and beginning to stink with sweat. But his skin would be clean, at least.

"We don't know anything about Jimmy," Dean suddenly said. "For all we know, he could be completely insane. Remember Gordon?"

"Yes, I remember Gordon," Sam said, annoyed. "That was two days ago, Dean, of course I remember. And do _you_ remember that I was the one who didn't want to trust him?" Dean muttered something that Castiel couldn't hear, and Sam added, "Just because Gordon turned out to be completely psychopathic doesn't mean that all hunters are. And besides, we have no leads on the demon so far. The thing's just vanished, and if Jimmy knows something that can help us track it down, then we're going to need his help."

Dean muttered something else, and Sam sighed. "Come on, I'm way too tired to keep fighting tonight. I just got my freakin' throat torn open, remember? Can we at least save this for the morning?"

Instantly, Dean's voice shifted from annoyed to worried. "Yeah, you should rest up. Try to sleep off the venom."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam mumbled through a yawn, and then it was silent.

Castiel waited for another minute, but when he still didn't hear anything more, he decided that it would be safe for him to exit the bathroom. And sure enough, when he pushed the door the rest of the way open, he saw that Sam had already passed out, still on top of the covers, his long limbs hanging off the bed that was too small to fit him completely. Dean had moved over to the second bed, and was staring at his brother, not appearing to pay attention to anything else.

Castiel approached the bed, but Dean still didn't appear to notice him. Castiel waited until he was barely an inch away from Dean, then cleared his throat.

Dean glanced up, then flinched back. "Dude," he said. "Personal space." Castiel frowned, not understanding, and Dean added, "That means don't stand quite so close, okay?"

Castiel still did not understand why Dean seemed so upset, but even so, he nodded and took a step back. Dean relaxed once there was more distance between them, and looked up at Castiel's face, seeming to be waiting for him to say something. Castiel cleared his throat again, and finally asked, "Would you like for me to leave?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

"I unintentionally overheard the last part of your argument," Castiel admitted. "I don't wish to make trouble. I will leave if you don't wish for me to be here."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, probably a good idea." He stood and grabbed his car keys from where he'd thrown them onto a nearby table earlier, then added, "You want me to drive you anywhere? You got a car or a motel room you want to be dropped off at?"

Castiel shook his head. "Thank you, it is kind of you to offer, but I suppose that here is as good as anywhere else." Then he frowned, and asked, "Actually, do you know anything about which areas of this town are safe and which are not? Besides the park, obviously, although I suppose that the park would be safe enough, now that the Vetala are dead." He considered that, but decided that the park was too far away. It was definitely outside of walking distance, and the adrenaline rush that he had experienced during the fight was quickly leaving him. He felt as though he were on the verge of collapse, and mostly wanted to find a relatively-nice place to curl up and sleep.

Dean snorted. "Look at us," he said, with a vague gesture toward both Sam and himself. "You think that we pay attention to what's safe and what's not?"

"I suppose not," Castiel admitted. That was too bad. He would just have to hope that the area near this motel was safe. He had heard stories about bad things that could happen to someone who slept out on the streets, and was in no hurry to experience any of these stories firsthand. He didn't see any other alternative, though.

"Did you and Sam want to speak with me again?" Castiel asked, trying to hide the fact that he was hoping they'd say yes. "I can return tomorrow morning, if you wish."

"Sure, yeah, sounds good," Dean said. "I think that Sammy's got some questions for you about how you know our dad and that sort of shit."

Castiel frowned. He wasn't sure what he was going to say in response to those questions. Now wasn't the time to think about it, though. Castiel felt himself begin to sway slightly, and it was becoming difficult to remain upright. Now, it was time to sleep.

"I will be back tomorrow," he promised, as he headed toward the door. He opened it and stepped outside, then turned and glanced over his shoulder. "Goodnight, Dean," he said, then allowed the door to slam closed behind him.


	5. Part 1, Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

It was not the most comfortable night that Castiel had ever spent on the street, but it wasn't the worst, either. The important part was that nothing bothered him in the night, which was always a relief.

He woke early the next morning – or, he thought that it was early. He wasn't entirely sure, considering that he didn't have a watch, nor any other way of telling the time. Still, the sky was still just dark enough to tell him that sunrise had not been too long ago. He wasn't sure if it was too soon to return to the Winchesters' motel room, but then, they had not specified a time for his visit, so he supposed that it would be fine.

Sam was the one to answer Castiel's knock. He was wearing a different flannel shirt than he had the night before, and his hair was dripping water, so he had clearly been awake long enough for him to wash and dress himself. That made Castiel feel better about knocking at such an early hour.

"Hey, Jimmy," Sam said with a grin as he opened the door to let him inside, though his smile faltered as he continued to stare. Castiel fidgeted slightly, wondering what had caused this reaction in Sam, though he wasn't entirely sure if he wished to ask or not.

After far too long, Sam opened the door the rest of the way, allowing Castiel to step inside. "You didn't shower or change clothes?" Sam asked.

"I didn't get the chance," Castiel said honestly. He had thought of finding a gas station in order to wash up, but he had decided against it, preferring to simply come straight here. "Would it be possible for me to borrow your bathroom?" he asked after a moment. At the very least, it would be nice to clean up a little bit.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said. "No problem. Dean's in there right now, but you can go shower as soon as he's out, if you want."

"Thank you," Castiel said fervently. It had gotten to the point where his own stench was beginning to bother even him, and he would be grateful to be rid of some of it, at least.

"No problem," Sam repeated, then frowned and asked, "Hey, Jimmy? Where were you last night?"

"In an alley about fifty feet from here," Castiel replied.

He saw in an instant that there was something wrong with that answer, judging by the way that Sam stiffened, looking surprised. "Wait, were you sleeping on the street?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," Castiel said. He supposed that that wasn't technically true. He did have the credit card, and could have easily used it to purchase a room at this motel. That likely would have been the smart thing to do. But though he still didn't quite understand how this plastic card could possibly stand in place of money, he did understand enough to know that using it would be taking money from its real owner. That may not be an issue, if it turned out that he was the real owner, as it appeared that he was. But until he knew for sure, he didn't feel comfortable using it for his own gain unless it was absolutely necessary, particularly since he had already spent so much on the train tickets he had used to get here.

Sam was giving him a look like he was going to say or ask something more about the fact that Castiel had spent the night on the street, but he didn't. Instead, he just asked, "Have you eaten anything? Dean went out and got doughnuts earlier this morning." Sam snorted. "Because that's Dean's idea of a healthy breakfast, apparently. We've got coffee, too, if you want some."

"Both sound wonderful," Castiel said, not because he knew what either of those things were – well, he had a general idea about coffee – but because his stomach was beginning to grumble again, and he would be grateful for anything that could fill it.

Sam nodded, then winced and reached up to touch the right side of his neck, which looked as though it had been covered by a clean bandage this morning.

"How are you feeling?" Castiel asked, a little anxious. It certainly looked as though the venom had worn off completely, but that didn't necessarily mean that Sam was alright.

"Fine," Sam said shortly. After a second, he elaborated, "Hurts like crazy now that the venom isn't numbing it at all, but it's fine, I've had worse."

Castiel nodded, deciding to believe that.

"Here you go," Sam said, setting a cup of coffee and a bag that Castiel assumed contained doughnuts onto the table and gesturing for Castiel to take a seat. Which he did, and eagerly reached for the bag, pulling out the first doughnut that he touched and taking a bite. A doughnut turned out to be a type of pastry, and was absolutely delicious, though Castiel thought that he preferred the taste of the hamburger from the night before.

"Go ahead and take as many as you want," Sam offered, dropping down into the seat opposite him and reaching for his laptop, which was sitting open in the center of the table. He began to type something on it, though he looked up long enough to say, "I've already eaten, and Dean's like a bottomless pit when it comes to food. You'd better eat your fill before he gets his hands on them." Then he tilted his head and added, "It sounds like Dean's getting out of the shower now. You can borrow a pair of his clothes, if you don't have anything else to change into."

Castiel swallowed quickly, and said, "Thank you. Really, this is all incredibly kind of you."

Sam just smiled. "Hey, you pretty much saved my life last night," he said lightly. "I think we owe you." Then he added, "Besides, we're the ones who have to sit around in the same motel room as you. Believe me when I say that we have an ulterior motive to not wanting you to stink."

Castiel looked down at his disgusting clothes and grimaced. "Even so, thank you."

Sam shrugged. "Really, Jimmy, it's the least that we could do."

Castiel frowned, hearing the fake name spoken yet again. Sam had already said it many times that morning, to the point where Castiel was beginning to grow used to hearing it, as if he had almost begun to think that it really was his name. But he thought that it was time to correct them. "About my name," he began.

Then he stopped, Dean's words from the night before suddenly flooding over him. Dean and Sam had had some experience that involved a crazy hunter, and Dean in particular was not inclined to trust any other hunters any time soon, which was what they thought that Castiel was.

He thought of all of the people from the men's shelter, and how they had reacted when he claimed to hear the angels' voices. Most of the men had given him strange looks and done their best to stay away him. Father Garcia had been the lone man to not react poorly, and to not treat Castiel as though he were something dangerous and odd that must be avoided, but even he had not actually believed that the angels were speaking to him.

Now, Castiel had proof that the angels' voices were real. They had led him to Sam and Dean Winchester, after all. And as far as Castiel could tell, most people didn't know that monsters existed. So perhaps Sam and Dean would believe in other things that normal people did not.

Or perhaps they would also believe him to be insane, and refuse to have anything to do with him once he had shared this bit of information.

Castiel was suddenly struck by how badly he didn't want that to happen. It shouldn't matter to him whether or not these two men believed his words, except that he wanted to figure out the truth about Azazel and the angels, and he needed the Winchesters' help in order to do that. But somehow, his desire ran beyond that. He liked the Winchesters. He had enjoyed listening to them banter the night before, and he had enjoyed speaking with Dean, however briefly that had lasted, and he enjoyed the kindness that Sam was showing him now. And all at once, Castiel didn't think that he would be able to stand it if the Winchesters threw him from their motel and declared that he was insane, particularly since Castiel didn't have the slightest idea where he would go or what he would do if that happened.

He could still correct them, still say that he was named Castiel and that Jimmy was simply a fake name that he used, as Dean had suggested the night before.

But then, he didn't know for sure that his name really was Castiel, even if it somehow felt familiar to him. He had only heard the name Castiel because the angels had spoken it, had only adopted it as his own because he liked the sound of it. What if it wasn't his name any more than the name Jimmy belonged to him – or perhaps even less so, as he at least had an identification card that called him Jimmy? That was proof that at some point in time, he had called himself Jimmy, even if it didn't feel as though it was actually his name. He had no such proof with the name Castiel.

"Jimmy?" Sam urged, after a moment had passed without Castiel saying a word.

Castiel swallowed, and made up his mind.

"Novak," he said. Sam gave him a quizzical glance, and Castiel explained, "My last name is Novak. I'm not sure if Dean mentioned that to you or not."

The words felt deceitful, even he wasn't entirely sure if they were or not. But he also felt as though calling himself by this name was less dangerous, and less likely to lead to them learning the truth about the voices that he heard. Still, though, he couldn't help the pang of regret that jabbed hard at his conscious at the thought of purposefully deceiving Sam and Dean.

Sam, however, just smiled.

"Well, then, Jimmy Novak," he said, "it's nice to meet you."

* * *

><p>As promised, Sam and Dean allowed Castiel to use the shower before they asked him any further questions, and even gave him new clothes to wear and a disposable razor that he could use. He had had to ask them to explain how to shave, which had earned him some strange looks from both of the brothers, but it had been worth it to remove the stubble from his face. It wasn't that the hair looked bad, exactly, but he realized that he vastly preferred the way that he looked without it.<p>

He undressed himself as soon as he had finished with the shaving, and made a face at his disgusting clothes before shoving them as far down into the trashcan as he could. Then he stepped into the shower, relishing the feeling of the water streaming down his skin. There was no warm water left, but Castiel didn't mind – he had grown used to that during his time at the men's shelter, and he was merely grateful for the chance to wash at all.

He emerged from the bathroom about fifteen minutes later, clothed in the tee shirt and jeans that had been given to him. The shirt hung a bit loose in the shoulders, and the jeans had had to be rolled up in order to fit his legs, but other than that, they fit quite nicely. It appeared as though he and Dean were nearly the same size.

"You were sleeping on the street last night," Dean asked, as soon as Castiel joined him and Sam at the table.

Castiel frowned, surprised that that was the first thing that Dean had wanted to know. "Yes," he said simply, then hurried to assure him, "Don't worry, I'm used to doing so. It doesn't particularly bother me anymore."

"So, what?" Dean asked. "You travel around sleeping on the streets and hunting monsters?"

"Well, the monster hunting is new," Castiel admitted. "But yes."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, and then Sam asked, "How exactly did you know our dad?"

Castiel stiffened, unsure how to answer. Originally, he had planned on telling the truth, which was that he didn't have the slightest idea how he knew John Winchester, or even if he knew him. But since he had decided to leave out the truth about hearing the angels' voices, that didn't leave him with many options of what he could say without sounding as though he was crazy.

Also, Sam had said the night before that Castiel would be useful to them if he had known their dad, and the prospect of the Winchesters thinking him useful was strangely enticing.

"I don't know him well," Castiel finally said, which was technically truthful.

"Did you help him hunt the demon at all?" Sam asked eagerly. "Azazel, I mean?"

Castiel frowned. "I know a bit about Azazel," he said, carefully avoiding the question. "And I've heard quite a bit about you two, mostly regarding the fact that Sam is one of the children that Azazel has chosen."

"And what the fuck does that mean?" Dean asked.

"I wish that I knew," Castiel said honestly. "That it what I came here to try to discover. Although, if you two don't know anything more than I do, then I don't think that I will be successful."

"We know a bit," Sam said. He glanced over at Dean, who frowned and glared for a moment, but finally inclined his head in a brief nod. Sam nodded back, then turned to look at Castiel again. "There's a group of us – we've only met one other person, but we get the feeling that there's more. We were both born in the same year, and both had our nurseries burned down and our moms killed when we were exactly six months old. We're still trying to figure out what the connection is."

Castiel nodded, absorbing that information. "How do you intend on figuring that out?"

"We've got a friend," Sam said. "His names Ash. We met him about a week ago, and he's apparently a computer genius. He's making a program to find all the children who had fires in their houses six months after they were born, so we can try to figure out what the connection between all of them is."

"You know, we should have him look up the name Azazel while he's at it," Dean suddenly said, looking over at Sam, "if that's the name of the demon who did all this."

Sam glanced back over at his brother. "Yeah, good idea," he said. "Wait, if Dad told you Azazel's name when you were at the hospital, why didn't you think of it when we were at the Roadhouse last week?"

Dean shrugged and looked away. "Didn't think of it," he grumbled. "Sue me."

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean looked as though he didn't want to hear anything more on the subject, so Castiel quickly cut in by saying, "Do you know anything else about the demon? Or about any other connection between the children?"

For a second, Castiel saw Dean and Sam's eyes flicker towards each other. "No," Sam said. "There doesn't seem to be anything else connecting us."

"Why?" Dean asked, his voice almost challenging. "You know something?"

Castiel shook his head. "Sadly, no, that's all I've heard." There was a chance that he might be able to learn more, but he couldn't guarantee that – after all, he wasn't sure what exactly the angels were going to say.

Dean shrugged, not looking surprised, and stood. The car keys were on the table in front of him, and Dean grabbed them, tossing them up into the air and absentmindedly catching them as he said, "Well, give us your number, we'll call if we find anything else out."

Castiel thought that that would be rather difficult, considering that he didn't have a phone, but he didn't say that out loud. Instead, he asked, "Are you two going somewhere?"

"Sammy found a case this morning," Dean said. "Third one in a row for us, whoop-de-doo." He shook his head, then said, "It's a haunted house down in Nebraska that looks like it might actually be, you know, haunted."

Castiel frowned, turning to look at Sam – or, specifically, to look at the bandage on his neck. "You're going to work another case so soon after being injured? Is that a good idea?"

Sam shrugged. "It looks like a routine salt and burn," he said, as if that was supposed to have some sort of meaning to Castiel.

Dean snorted. "When is it ever just a salt and burn?" he asked.

Sam ignored his brother. "Besides, a group of teenagers broke into a supposedly-haunted house earlier this week on a dare, and since then, one of them had died of mysterious causes every night. We're already going to have to hurry if we want to make it before the next person dies."

"Ah." Castiel didn't know exactly what Sam meant by all of that, but he did understand the reason why they would hurry away, if lives were at stake. He couldn't blame them for wanting to leave as soon as possible, in this case. Perhaps he should just feel lucky that he had woken early enough that he had gotten to see the two of them at all this morning.

Still, though, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He had come to like the Winchesters quite a bit.

Sam stood as well, and Castiel hastily followed suit, preparing himself to say goodbye.

Instead, though, Sam looked at him and frowned. "Hey, Jimmy," he said slowly. "What exactly do you plan on doing next?"

Castiel hadn't even considered that. He tilted his head, his frown deepening. After a minute of considering, the most honest answer he could give was, "I'm not entirely sure." He squinted, still thinking hard, and could finally add, "I think that I would like to continue with this hunting business, to make sure that creatures such as the one that we faced last night aren't able to continue hurting other people. And I will try to learn more about Azazel, of course, and try to discover what his plans are."

"Well, yeah, I figured it was something like that," Sam said. "But what exactly are you going to _do_?" Castiel just blinked at him, not comprehending, and Sam amended, "I mean, where are you going to sleep? What are you going to do about food?"

Again, that was something that hadn't even crossed Castiel's mind until that moment. "The streets really aren't so bad," he said after a moment, "as long as you stay to yourself and don't attempt to cause trouble." He had received that advice on his very first night, from a man who had been sleeping on the streets for over a year at that point. "And I will find a way to get myself food." Again, he did have the credit card. He still had no intention of using it for everyday purchases, but it would be there in case of a true emergency.

He would find a way to survive. It would be fine.

Sam looked over at Dean, who immediately scowled, not looking happy about whatever Sam was trying to silently communicate to him. But that apparently didn't matter to Sam, because he turned back to Castiel and said, "Do you want to come ghost hunting with us then?"

Castiel stiffened. "What?" he asked, not entirely sure if he'd heard that right.

"You don't have anywhere to go right now," Sam said. "You might as well hunt with us for a bit. Just until you figure something else out."

"I- Yes," Castiel said immediately. "Yes, I would love that. Thank you."

"No problem," Sam said.

"Jimmy," Dean said, in a tone that thoroughly contradicted Sam's last statement, "would you mind taking our bags out? You can just pile them next to the car, we'll come out and load them in a minute."

"Of course," Castiel said, anxious to prove that it had not been a poor decision to allow him to come. There were two duffels lying on the beds. Castiel slung one over each of his arms and hurried out the door.

He left the duffels beside the Winchesters' car, just as Dean had asked, then walked back to the motel room. Inside, Sam and Dean were speaking to each other, and Castiel once again found himself standing behind a door, eavesdropping on one of their conversations.

"Just chill, man," Sam said. "It's one case. And anyway, you saw the way he fought that Vetala – it's not like he's going to be a liability."

"Since when do we work with other hunters, though?" Dean insisted.

"Let me repeat myself," Sam said. "It's _one case._ It's not like we're inviting the guy to come live with us. And anyway, he doesn't have anywhere else to go, and he did kinda save my life last night."

"I would've gotten there before she actually killed you," Dean insisted. Silence, then he added, "We should drop him off at the Roadhouse, make him Ellen's problem."

A pause. When Sam spoke again, he sounded thoughtful. "You know, that's not a bad idea," he said. "I mean, he said that he wants to hunt, right? That'd probably be a good place for him to go, and he'd be able to help Ash out with the research and stuff. We should ask him if he wants us to give him a ride down there."

"Good," Dean said.

Sam continued, "But in the meantime, we've got a ghost that's going to kill someone later tonight. We've got to get down there before we do anything else."

Dean groaned. "Guess that means we're stuck with him for now, huh?"

"It's _one case_, Dean!"

Castiel cleared his throat and pushed the door open. "I placed the bags beside your car, as you wished."

"Awesome," Dean said, jangling the keys again and heading out the door. "Let's hit the road, then."

Castiel nodded and turned to walk to the car. Sam smiled at him as they all climbed into their respective seats. It didn't make Castiel feel much better.

* * *

><p>Castiel was careful not to say anything during the long drive to the haunted house that they were going to investigate. Dean and Sam bickered about which radio station to listen to, and took bets on what exactly the ghost's spirit would be tied to, and got into a long argument about the merits of Star Wars versus Star Trek which made them nearly come to blows. The entire time, Castiel remained silent in the backseat, partly because he had no opinion on any of these topics, and partly because he didn't wish to impose on the Winchesters any more than he already had.<p>

Sam brought it up around noon, when they pulled off at another fast food restaurant to buy lunch.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, turning around in his seat to look at Castiel for the first time in the entire drive. He had to turn his torso fully around, instead of just turning his head, which likely would have pulled on his stitches. Castiel couldn't help but think that that position didn't look comfortable, and wondered why Sam bothered with sitting like that, when it would be just as simple to speak to Castiel while facing forward.

Castiel considered asking for something – he was getting hungry, after all – but then he thought of the amount of money that was left in the wallet, and realized that it wasn't going to last for very long if he continued to spend it regularly. So he shook his head. "I don't require anything."

"It's fine," Sam said quickly. "We're buying."

That was a very nice offer, one that Castiel was very tempted to accept, but he merely said, "I am fine."

Sam nodded and turned back around, but nevertheless, a minute later Dean was passing a hamburger back to him.

"We're going to be fighting a ghost tonight," Dean said in way of explanation. "You'd better at least eat something first."

Castiel frowned down at the hamburger in his hands. "Thank you," he said, wondering if Sam had forced Dean to buy this for him. He had not heard Sam say anything of the sort, making it seem as if Dean had made the decision on his own, but Castiel had already realized that Sam and Dean were experts at having silent conversations. Castiel felt a flash of guilt, and wondered if he should offer to let either Sam or Dean eat it instead – hadn't Sam said something about Dean always being hungry?

In the end, though, Castiel's hunger won out, and it didn't take long for him to consume the entire hamburger.

"You've been really quiet, you know," Sam suddenly said, turning to glance over his shoulder at Castiel. "What's going on with you?"

Castiel frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said.

Sam shrugged. "It just seemed a little weird, is all," he said. After another second, he asked, "So, how did you get into hunting?"

He didn't know Sam would be interested in his response, but even so, he endeavored to answer as best he could. "I learned that people were being killed, and I decided that someone should put a stop to it."

There was a long pause, then Sam raised his eyebrows, looking at Castiel in surprise. "So, you just decided to become a hunter one day, completely out of nowhere?"

Yes, that was essentially what had happened, now that Castiel thought about it. "It wasn't as though I were doing anything else with my life," he said after a moment.

"Still, though," Sam said, and didn't add anything more to that sentence. Instead, he said, "Dean and I were raised into it. Which you probably know already, if you know our dad."

Castiel made a small noise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and turned his attention to staring out the window, enjoying the view of the many buildings and people that they passed.

Sam didn't ask any more questions after that, and returned to bickering about the radio station again, even though even Castiel could tell that Dean was going to win this argument. For the rest of the car ride, neither Winchester said anything to Castiel, not even when they stopped again to buy something for dinner.

But Dean once again handed him a paper bag, this kind containing a sandwich made of some other type of meat. Chicken, Castiel thought it was. Castiel once again murmured his thanks, and Dean merely nodded as he took off down the road.

* * *

><p>They arrived in the town at about ten o'clock that night.<p>

"Too late to go talk to the witnesses," Dean remarked as they drove down the road. Castiel couldn't help but agree. It was already dark outside, and it looked as if the town had shut down for the night. Castiel wasn't sure if the remaining teenagers who had broken into the house earlier that week would even be awake now, and even if they were, Castiel got the impression that they would not wish to tell them about the ghost house at such a time.

Of course, Castiel thought that if getting the information from them was the most important thing, then they should go speak to the teenagers immediately, regardless of how rude the families may find it. But then, he had never hunted before, so he supposed that he would let Dean and Sam choose how to handle this, as they were the ones with the experience.

"What is the plan?" Castiel asked, speaking for the first time in roughly four hours. Sam glanced back at him, looking surprised, as if he hadn't expected Castiel to speak up at all. Which wasn't particularly surprising, Castiel supposed, considering how long it had been since he had said a single word.

"There were six teenagers who broke into the house of one Charles Maison two days ago," Sam said. "It's been standing empty ever since his death, local legend it that it's haunted. They hung out for a couple hours, played around a bit, then left. And that was all. Absolutely nothing spooky."

"Dude," Dean said, "and you know this how?"

"I found one of their blogs," Sam said.

Dean made a face, muttering something about blogs and stupidity, but gestured for Sam to continue. Castiel thought about asking what a blog was, but thought better of it after a moment. There were more important things to worry about right then.

"Then the next night at about eleven o'clock – the same time that the kids had broken into the house the night before – one of them was killed. Autopsy report said he was strangled, but no signs of any bruising on the body," Sam said. "The next night, same deal. A girl from the group died at eleven o'clock from strangulation, but there's not a single mark on her."

Castiel nodded. "That does sound suspicious," he said slowly. "You believe that they were killed by a ghost?" He knew what ghosts were, though if he had bothered to think of them before today, he would have assumed that they were merely children's tales. Still, though, if demons and angels and Vetala could exist, then he wasn't about to start questioning the idea of ghosts.

This time, it was Dean who answered, which made Castiel suspect that both brothers already knew everything that Sam had just said, and that Sam had only been repeating it for Castiel's sake, which was thoughtful. "There's some local legend that says that some crazy old bat hanged himself in the attic," he said. "Sam didn't get the chance to check up on how true that is, but it fits with the way that the vics have all been killed."

Castiel nodded. "That sounds like a reasonable assumption," he agreed.

"I already did a check online, and it turned out that Maison was cremated, meaning that there's no body for us to go dig up," Sam added, looking back at Castiel. Castiel just nodded again, and tried to look as though he understood. Sam looked doubtful, as though he could tell that Castiel wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about. He didn't say anything about that, though. Instead, he just paused for a minute, and then continued, "So anyway, we have two options here. We could try going to the houses of the remaining teenagers, wait for the ghost to show up so that we can put a stop to it. Problem is that there are four possible targets left, so even if we split up, we'd still be leaving one person unprotected."

Dean didn't wait for the rest of Sam's words before he nodded in agreement. "So we head down to Maison House or whatever it's called, see if we can find what's tying this ghost here and burn it before he kills anyone else."

"Exactly," Sam said.

Castiel agreed – he thought that that sounded like the best course of action. Neither of them asked his opinion, though, so he remained silent.

They arrived at the house about five minutes later. It was a large, gothic mansion, which was completely overgrown by weeds, as though nobody had tended to it in years, if not decades. Dean parked the Impala – Castiel had learned that that was what this car was called – over to the side, behind a pair of large shrubs, where it wasn't visible from the road. They all climbed out of the car and circled around to the trunk, which Dean popped open to reveal an impressive assortment of weapons. Dean and Sam both immediately began to arm themselves, and after a few seconds, Dean glanced over at Castiel, who hadn't moved since exiting the car. "You don't have a weapon, right?"

Castiel shook his head, and a second later, Dean pressed something metal into his hands.

"It's filled with salt rounds," Dean added, noticing the confusion on Castiel's face.

Castiel nodded, then added, "How exactly do I use it, though?"

Now, it was Dean's turn to appear confused. "You don't know how to use a gun?" Castiel shook his head, and Dean looked even more surprised. "How can you hunt if you don't- You know what, never mind." Dean took the gun – if that was what it was called – from Castiel's hands and tucked it into his own pocket, then reached into the truck on the Impala and drew out a long metal crowbar. Castiel recognized the tool from the time that he had helped repair the steps of the men's shelter.

"Solid iron," Dean said, handing it over. "It'll work just as good as the salt, figured that it'd be more your style."

"Thank you," Castiel said, accepting the crowbar, as well as the flashlight and the small container of salt that Sam held out to him. Castiel wasn't quite sure what the use of the salt was, except that it apparently repelled ghosts. Dean just nodded. He and Sam finished arming themselves with a variety of weapons, and then the three of them headed for the house.


	6. Part 1, Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

"Let's start by searching the place," Dean said. "I'll take upstairs, see if I can find an attic. You two handle the ground floor."

"Why are you pairing the two of us up?" Sam asked, using his flashlight to gesture at Castiel. "The ghost is most likely to be in the attic, right? You're the one who should take backup."

"Because you're injured and he's-" Dean didn't finish that thought, but he did give Sam a look which told him not to argue. And, surprisingly, Sam didn't.

They split up, just as Dean had instructed. Sam and Castiel moved soundlessly through the house, neither of them feeling the need to say anything. Castiel, in particular, was acutely aware of the fact that they only had forty-five minutes until an innocent teenager was brutally murdered, and didn't wish to do anything to distract from their search.

They had searched about half of the first floor when they found the door to the basement. Sam shined his flashlight down the rickety steps, toward the concrete floor below, then said, "I'm going to go take a look around down there. You finish this floor, then go up and check on Dean, okay?"

"I thought that Dean wanted us to stay together? So that I can be your backup," Castiel said, adding finger quotations around the word _backup_ to emphasize his point. A clerk at the grocery store where he had bought the maps a few days ago had done that, and Castiel thought that it was a useful way to add emphasis, as well as to show that he was quoting Dean exactly.

"Yeah, but he's up there by himself, and I figured that one of us should go make sure everything's okay," Sam said. "Especially if the ghost really is haunting the attic."

Castiel couldn't deny the logic of that, so he nodded. "Alright," he said. "I will ensure Dean's safety and then return to you."

"Thanks," Sam said, looking oddly amused at Castiel for some reason, and then began descending the steps.

It didn't take long for Castiel to finish searching the lower floor. A cursory inspection revealed nothing out of the ordinary, except for signs of where the teenagers had disturbed the dust when they had visited earlier. He turned and headed up the stairs, calling Dean's name in a low voice to let him know that he was coming.

Dean did not respond. Castiel reached the top of the stairs and glanced around. At the end of the hall, there was a ladder pulled down, allowing access to the attic. "Dean," Castiel called again as he began to climb. And, again, Dean did not respond.

Castiel tightened his hands on the iron crowbar as he crept into the attic, his eyes flickering around, ready to strike at the first sign of anything ghostly. He was already worried about what he was going to find, his stomach clenching as he tried to imagine the reasons why Dean wouldn't answer Castiel's calls.

If the ghost had done something to harm Dean-

Castiel decided that he wasn't going to think about that. Not yet, at least.

There was a rope hanging from one of the rafters. It was frayed, as if someone had cut it in half and then never bothered to untie the remainder of the rope. It wasn't as though there was a noose still hanging from the ceiling – the rope was only a foot or so long, and hanging high above their heads, where Castiel wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't happened to point his flashlight upward at the exact right spot. Even so, he couldn't help but wonder why nobody had taken it down.

He stepped closer, intent on getting a closer look.

Something touched his shoulder.

Castiel spun around, immediately swinging the crowbar in a wide arc to try to take out the ghost before it could hurt him.

"Woah, woah!" Dean shouted, jumping back. "Be careful with that thing!"

Castiel hastily lowered his crowbar. "I'm sorry, I thought you were-"

It wasn't necessary to finish that thought. Dean was already waving one hand dismissively, which was actually somewhat frightening, considering that he used the hand which held his gun, and Castiel still hadn't quite figured out what guns were used for, but he knew that he didn't wish to find out by having it used on him somehow.

"Why didn't you respond when I called your name?" Castiel asked.

"Didn't hear you," Dean said simply. "I was back here," he said, and gestured for Castiel to follow him. Castiel did, and was led to a door that looked as though it had been hidden behind a bookshelf.

Inside the room, Castiel was greeted with organized chaos. Though every room that he had been in before had been sparsely furnished, this room certainly was not. It had been packed with so many tables that it was almost impossible for Dean and Castiel to fit into it together without knocking something over, and ever table held some item that appeared to be on display. The items ranged from beautiful jewelry to ornate statues to taxidermy animals, the last of which Castiel found mildly disturbing.

"He collected things," Castiel said, looking over at Dean.

Dean nodded. "I wasn't the one who found the secret door," he said, shining his flashlight over what appeared to be a human skull decorated with jewels, and making a face at it. "It was standing open when I got here. And check this out." He moved the flashlight to the left, pointing to the sole empty table in the entire room. Castiel stepped forward for a closer look, squinting to try to make out what Dean was indicating, and then he saw it. Not only was the table empty, but there was a small square of clean space in the center of the dust that covered the surface, as if something had been sitting there until recently.

Castiel understood. "You think that the one of the teenagers stole something when they were visiting earlier this week?"

"You got it," Dean said. He stepped toward the doorway, and Castiel followed, mostly because this room was far too cramped to just stand around having a conversation. "And I'm guessing that the ghost doesn't know who did it, so he's going after everyone."

Castiel nodded. "So, if we found the item and returned it, do you think that the attacks would stop?" he asked, then immediately answered his own question. "No, never mind, it would never work."

"Why not?" Dean asked. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

Castiel considered, and said, "Well, I suppose that should be out backup plan, if we can't stop the ghost tonight. But we only have-" He paused, suddenly remembering that he didn't have any way of telling the time, so he didn't know exactly how much time was left. Instead, he finished, somewhat lamely, by saying, "We don't have much time. There is no way that we will be able to track down the item and bring it back here before the ghost kills someone new."

Dean nodded in agreement. "So we need to find a way to stop the ghost before then," he said.

"Have you figured out what we're supposed to burn?" Castiel asked.

Dean snorted. "Look at all of that crap," he said, gesturing back toward the hidden room. "You think that I've figured out which one item was the most important to him? It could be any of that shit."

"Well," Castiel said slowly, trying to think of a logical way to figure this out. "What types of items usually hold a soul to Earth?"

Dean shrugged. "Lot's of stuff," he said. "Could be something that had emotional value when the person was alive, or it could be something that had to do with their death, or just something that represents who they are. With this guy, it looks like he was attached to a hell of a lot of things, that's why it's going to be so hard to figure it out.

"Something related to his death," Castiel repeated, as something occurred to him. "What about-"

He lifted his flashlight to point it toward the rafters, then paused.

The rope that he had seen earlier was gone. The rafters were bare, as if there had never been anything there to begin with.

"What about what?" Dean asked.

"There was a rope there," Castiel said. He pointed the flashlight all around the rafters, to make sure that he wasn't simply missing it, but they were all equally bare. There was absolutely no sign of the rope anywhere, even though Castiel was sure that he had seen it just a few minutes ago. "It's gone now."

"Huh, that's weird," Dean said, not sounding terribly surprised or concerned – though, given that he apparently did things such as this all the time, Castiel supposed that he would be used to odd events by now.

There was a low buzzing noise, and Dean pulled out his phone. "Give me a sec," he said, then held it up to his ear. "Hey, Sam. Yeah, Jimmy's up here with me, we think we might've found something. What about you?" A short pause, then, "What, you think you'll just magically find some info that you missed earlier? Don't think you have enough time for that, dude. Okay, okay, fine, sounds like as good a plan as any. I'll come toss you the keys, then Jimmy and I will keep looking around here, see what we can find. Call us soon as you know something."

Dean snapped his phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket, and Castiel tilted his head, looking at his quizzically. "Is there something wrong?"

Dean shook his head. "Sammy's heading to a diner we passed about a minute up the road. It was open all night, and he thinks there'll be wifi. He's gonna see what he can find out about our dead guy, to try to figure out what to burn."

That made some sense. "You don't think that it will work?" he asked, and Dean just made a face, not answering. Castiel nodded – he understood Dean's skepticism, even without Dean having to say a word. So instead of asking again, Castiel just said, "And in the meantime, it makes sense for us to look through the treasures, to see if anything stands out."

Dean grinned. "Now you're thinking like a hunter," he said, and headed down the ladder, presumably to deliver the keys to his brother.

Castiel immediately headed back to the hidden room, and began squeezing through the narrow aisles separating the tables, squinting at every strange or confusing object that he passed. By the time that Dean joined him only a minute later, Castiel had seen all manner of unusual objects, but none of it seemed to be particularly special or important. It all looked as though it had been treated with the same care; absolutely nothing stood out.

The silence was excruciating. Castiel felt as though he should hardly be concerned with that, considering that they were in the midst of something important, but he couldn't help but feel as though this silence was somehow different than the comfortable silence that he had shared with Sam. After only a minute, he couldn't help but speak up, though even as he opened his mouth, he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say.

What he ended up saying was, "I'm fine with going to the Roadhouse, whatever that is."

Dean glanced up. "What?"

"I'm not sure who Ellen is, either," Castiel continued, staring hard at what appeared to be either a medieval medical instrument, or some sort of torture device. "But if you wish for me to stay with her, I have no objections. It isn't as though I have anywhere else that I plan on going."

Castiel had been determined to not look over at Dean, but he immediately found himself glancing over at the other man, and the light from his flashlight – though not pointed directly at Dean – was still enough for Castiel to see Dean grimace. "You heard that, huh?"

"Yes," Castiel said, deciding that a simple answer would be better in this case.

"Sorry," Dean said.

Castiel blinked, feeling thoroughly confused now. "There is no need to apologize," he said. "I didn't mean to impose my presence on you. I'm sorry that you have been forced to deal with me for so long."

"I didn't mean it like that," Dean said, still sounding uncomfortable, though he offered no explanation for how he had actually meant it.

Castel turned back to looking through the items, taking an extra moment to study an antique pocket watch, and then Dean said, "It's just, it's me and Sammy. That's how it's always been. I'm not all that eager to add someone else to that."

"I understand," Castiel said truthfully. Because he _could_ understand. He had already found himself caring for Dean and Sam, but that was likely caused by the fact that they were really the only people that he knew right now, not counting Father Garcia or anyone else from the men's shelter, who he would likely never see again. Castiel supposed that he had to begin feeling close to Sam and Dean, or else he would have nobody. That did not mean that they were obligated to feel the same.

They fell back into silence for a bit, which was only broken by Dean snapping, "Why the fuck hasn't Sam called yet?"

"How much longer do we have until the next attack?" Castiel asked.

Dean pulled out his phone. "Eight minutes," he said, and dialed a number, then pressed the phone against his ear. "Come on, Sam, please tell me that you found something."

Whatever Sam said in response, it made Dean growl out a swear and hang up immediately. "Looks like this Maison guy really was cremated, and Sam doesn't have a clue what could be tying him here," Dean said, and abruptly spun to face Castiel, lifting his flashlight to shine it straight at Castiel's face. "Okay, new plan."

Castiel squinted and lifted his hands to block out the light, but he immediately asked, "What?" He was beginning to realize that it wasn't going to do any good to continue simply looking through the man's belongings. If Dean had a better idea, then was eager to hear it.

Dean lowered the flashlight, and now Castiel could see his face well enough to make out the proud look on his face. "We don't know which of these things is tying the spirit here, right?" Dean asked, grabbing a bejeweled skull off one of the tables and casually catching it. Castiel thought that the answer to that was fairly obvious, but he nodded regardless. "If we don't know what to burn," Dean said slowly, tossing the skull to himself a second time, "then I say we burn it all."

* * *

><p>"This doesn't look like it will be safe," Castiel said doubtfully, watching as Dean spread gasoline over the contents of the hidden room. Though honestly, Castiel supposed that it was a bit late to be complaining, considering that he had helped Dean to cover the entire area with salt only a minute earlier.<p>

"Relax, it's perfectly safe," Dean said, then amended, "Well, safe enough that we're not going to get ourselves killed or anything."

"Yes," Castiel said. "That makes me feel much better."

Dean immediately glanced over at Castiel, and grinned. "That's the spirit," he said, then bent down and did something to his shoes. Castiel wasn't entirely sure what, until he realized that Dean had removed one of his shoelaces, and was working on pulling out the other one. "Give me yours, too," he said, and though Castiel wasn't sure what exactly Dean was planning, he instantly obeyed, removing his shoelaces and handing them over.

"Not the best fuse I've ever made," Dean said as he began tying the laces together, "but it'll be long enough that we can light it from the bottom of the ladder and then run like hell."

Castiel had to admit that there was some logic in that, so he didn't say a word as Dean began to lay his fuse in place, and then rubbed it down with gasoline. "For insurance," he explained. "We wanna make sure that this baby will actually burn."

Again, Castiel did suppose that that made some sense – as much sense as anything could make when they were talking about setting a house on fire. Though, considering that the only other option was to allow the ghost to kill an innocent teenager, it wasn't as though they had any other choice. "Alright," Castiel said after a moment. "But I'll be the one to light the match."

Dean began to protest, but Castiel cut him off by saying, "Your hands are covered in gasoline. You shouldn't be any closer to the fire than you have to be." After that, Dean couldn't exactly argue, so he handed over the lighter and climbed down the ladder. Castiel set his flashlight on the floor – he didn't think that he'd be able to climb down the ladder while holding both the flashlight and the lighter and the crowbar that he had tucked into his belt – and then followed Dean down.

He paused when he was just a few rungs from the bottom, where he was close enough that he would still be able to reach the end of the fuse. He flicked the lighter once, twice, three times before it finally lit, though Castiel didn't hold it to the fuse right away. Instead, he turned and looked over his shoulder at Dean, who was standing a few feet away, watching him intently.

"You do realize that this is an incredibly reckless and stupid idea," Castiel said.

"Is that going to stop you from going through with it?" Dean asked.

"Of course not," Castiel said, and was only somewhat surprised to learn that he meant it completely. It had never even crossed his mind to back out.

"Then light the damn thing," Dean said, though he didn't sound angry. In fact, Castiel couldn't see his face, but he was reasonably certain that Dean was smiling.

Castiel was about to obey, but something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore that he saw something moving.

"Dean," Castiel said urgently. "The ceiling."

He wasn't able to say anything more, but he didn't have to. Dean understood instantly, and swung his flashlight upward, pointing it toward the area beside Castiel's head. At first, they saw nothing. But then the movement came again, and this time, Dean saw it as well, and moved the beam of the flashlight just far enough to the left to illuminate the source.

There was a rope hanging from the ceiling. It wasn't tied to anything – it was simply hanging there, as though it was a part of the ceiling, though Castiel was positive that he hadn't seen it earlier.

Then he realized that he had. Not here, but in the attic. It was the same rope that had been hanging from the banister in the attic, the same rope that Castiel had assumed had been left up after the man's suicide.

He didn't have time to think of anything more than that, because that was when the rope began moving straight towards him.

Castiel prepared to throw himself from the ladder, already preparing to take off running down the hall, but he didn't make it nearly that far. He didn't even make it off the ladder. The rope caught him before he could even move, winding itself around his throat as if it were sentient. Castiel's hands flew to his neck, grasping at the rope and struggling to pull it off, but his hands simply touched against his skin as though the rope were not even there. A second later, the rope tightened, as if to punish him for even thinking of getting away.

Then it began to retreat back into the ceiling, pulling Castiel with it, lifting him off the ground. Only his toes were still touching the ladder now, and in a second, he would loose even that contact with something solid, and he already couldn't breathe, he couldn't imagine how much worse it would be if he couldn't even hold himself up-

A gunshot sounded, and Castiel collapsed to the floor, barely even noticing the way that he slammed the ground hard. He was too busy trying to breathe.

"You okay?" Dean demanded, his hands suddenly appearing on Castiel's shoulders and gripping him tight.

Castiel coughed, and gasped, "Fine." The lighter was somehow still in his hand. The flame had gone out, but he hadn't dropped it. He didn't even have the slightest idea how he had managed that, but he wasn't going to question it. Instead, he just reached up and groped about for Dean's hand, trying to press the lighter into it so that Dean could just kill the spirit already.

But first, he looked up, just in time to see a gaunt and ghostly man appear behind Dean.

"Behind you," Castiel gasped, but his throat still felt useless, and his breathing was coming too hard for Dean to understand the warning.

An instant later, Dean was thrown to the side. He roughly collided with the wall and stuck there, suspended in midair, despite the way he struggled.

The ghost of Maison approached him slowly. He lifted his pale hands, and an instant later, a length of rope appeared within his grip, which he pressed hard against Dean's throat.

Castiel instantly reached for the iron crowbar that he had been given, but it had somehow been knocked loose from his belt when the ghost had been strangling him. He switched to scrambling about his pockets, looking for his container of salt, but he had used it all up when he'd been salting the room-

The room!

Castiel pushed himself to his feet in an instant. His head felt light, as though he didn't have nearly enough air, but that could be ignored for now. He was already flickering the lighter again as he hurried up the ladder, practically dragging himself up it one-handed until his head was in the attic. By some miracle, it only took him one flick to get the flame going.

They had placed the fuse as a safety precaution, to give them time to escape before the house was engulfed in flames. It was still lying beside the entrance to the attic, ready to be used.

Castiel ignored it completely. Instead, he simply hurled the entire lighter toward the doorway to the hidden room, hoping desperately that Dean had coated the room with enough gasoline that it would light instantly.

He had. Castiel supposed that he should have known that, considering how enthusiastic Dean had seemed about killing things.

The room instantly burst into flames, and from below, there was an otherworldly screech. Castiel jumped down the ladder – not even taking the time to climb – just in time to see the ghost burn away to nothing, and to watch Dean collapse to the floor.

When Castiel had been strangled, Dean had immediately asked if he was alright. Castiel supposed that he should repay the courtesy, but there wasn't time. So he settled for grabbing Dean under the shoulders and practically hauling him to his feet. "Run," he said.

Dean obeyed. The two of them stumbled a few times – particularly Dean – but Castiel kept a tight hold on him, and together, they managed to burst out the front door before the fire had spread too far.

Instantly they both stumbled and fell to their knees on the grass, gasping for breath and coughing hard. Neither of them had breathed too much smoke – they had escaped fast enough to avoid that – but he had breathed in a few whiffs of it, and it was not pleasant.

"Man," Dean said after a few seconds of nothing but coughing and harsh breathing, "I frickin' hate fires."

Castiel frowned and looked over at him. Dean was already pushing himself to his feet, though he still looked slightly unsteady. "I was under the impression that you enjoyed killing ghosts," he said, also climbing to his feet and reaching out one hand to steady Dean.

"I do," Dean said. "Killing things is awesome. But fires? Fires suck."

Castiel couldn't think of anything to say in response to that, so he just turned and looked up at the house. He could see the light from the inferno shining through the attic windows. "I hope it doesn't spread."

"It won't," Dean said. "There are no other houses around for at least another mile. We'll call the fire department, they'll take care of it before it can burn anything else." He pulled out his phone, and Castiel thought that he was calling the fire department, as he'd said. Instead, though, he said, "The ghost's been dealt with. Get your ass back here and pick us up."

Dean returned his phone to his pocket without another word, and Castiel asked, "Sam is going to come get us?"

"Yup," Dean confirmed with a nod, then winced and rubbed his throat. "Why do they always have to strangle you?" he grumbled. "I mean, that guy obviously had a thing for hanging people, but seriously, there are a ridiculous amount of ghosts who do the same thing. Seriously, why?"

"I don't know," Castiel said.

"Well, it sucks," Dean said, and Castiel had to admit that he agreed.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, just stood there and stared up at the burning mansion.

"What did you shoot?" Castiel asked after a moment.

"Huh?"

"When I was being strangled," he elaborated. "I heard a gunshot, and then the rope disappeared."

"Oh, that," Dean said, and shrugged. "I shot a salt round at the place where the rope met the ceiling. Figured that it might do some good."

"Quick thinking," Castiel said, somewhat impressed.

"You, too," Dean said. "Good job torching the guy's stuff. I would've been dead if you hadn't done it so quick." He paused, then said, "And, you know, thanks for dragging me out of there."

"You're welcome," Castiel said simply.

The silence stretched between them, long enough that Castile began to shift in place and glance down the road, wondering when Sam would arrive so that they could get out of here. It wasn't that Castiel was particularly impatient, but he didn't want to risk being caught at the scene of an arson.

"You know," Dean said after the silence had lasted for a couple of minutes. Castiel turned back toward him; he was staring at the attic, and didn't appear to have looked away the entire time that they had been standing here. Now, he scowled. "I really, _fucking_ hate fires."

* * *

><p>Sam arrived barely a minute later, parking the car beside where Dean and Castiel were standing and stumbling out of it, his eyes wide as he stared at the burning building. "What the hell did you two do?" he demanded.<p>

"Jimmy killed a ghost, that's what we did," Dean said, snatching the keys from Sam's hand and heading to the driver's seat of the Impala. "No thanks to your research, might I add."

"Sorry," Sam said, as he circled around to the passenger seat. "I was hoping that there would at least be _something _useful," he added, and sounded thoroughly frustrated that that hadn't been the case.

"Yeah, well, whatever," Dean said. "Let's just get out of here."

Sam nodded and pulled open his door, but before he climbed inside, he took the time to look over at Castiel and grin. "Good job," he said.

Castiel shrugged. "It was Dean's idea," he said honestly. "I was just the one to enact his plan." But even so, he couldn't help but flush with pride as he climbed into the backseat of the Impala.


	7. Part 1, Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

Sam called 911 from the car as they drove away. They weren't sure if it was necessary or not – it was possible that someone else had already seen the flames and called someone – but they figured that it was better to be sure.

Dean took them to the nearest motel and made Sam get out of the car to check them in, claiming that not having to do it was the privilege of nearly dying earlier that night. Sam hadn't argued with that, and a few minutes later, they were heading for their room. Castiel awkwardly exited the car, but after that, he wasn't entirely sure what to do, so he simply ended up standing beside the Impala until Sam gestured for him to follow.

"It looks like this place has a couch you can crash on," he said as Castiel followed him into the room.

"I don't want to impose-" Castiel said, still thinking of what Dean had said earlier.

Dean cut off that protest by saying, "You're not going to sleep on the streets." After that, Castiel didn't feel so bad, even though he still knew that they didn't want him to be there.

Nonetheless, Dean and Sam were both very kind to him. Sam tossed one of his pillows onto the couch for Castiel to use, and Dean gave him his blanket, claiming that he always slept on top of the covers, anyway. "You never know what you're gonna wake up and see," he said. "Doesn't hurt to be prepared." And apparently he meant it, too – a few minutes later, Castiel caught him tucking his gun beneath his pillow.

They also handed him the toothpaste and told him he could go brush his teeth, which was something that Castiel hadn't had the chance to do since leaving the men's shelter. He didn't have a toothbrush, but then, he hadn't had one at the shelter, either. He licked off a bit of toothpaste and figured that that would be good enough.

"You want something to use as pajamas or something?" Dean asked as Castiel emerged from the bathroom.

Castiel glanced down at the borrowed clothes that he was still wearing, and quickly said, "No, I'm fine." He didn't want to impose any more than he already had. And anyway, Sam looked as though he intended on sleeping in his clothes as well, and though Dean had changed, he was still clothed in jeans and a tee shirt, just a different pair.

Dean shrugged. "Okay, then," he said, and flopped backward onto the bed, then squirmed and turned onto his stomach, his hands hanging off the sides. Sam was already in his bed, lying diagonally across it because that was the only way that he fit. "Mind turning off the light?" Dean muttered, already sounding as though he were on the verge of falling asleep.

Castiel nodded and flipped off the light, then crawled onto the couch. It was too warm in the motel room to sleep beneath the blanket, so he lay on top of it instead, keeping it between himself and the scratchy fabric of the couch.

It was infinitely more comfortable than the streets had been, not to mention that he felt far safer here than he ever had when he was out on his own.

"Thank you," Castiel said softly, glancing over at the Winchesters, even though it was too dark to actually see them.

A muffled snore was all that he received in response. Castiel smiled to himself, then rolled over and attempted to sleep.

* * *

><p>Castiel woke the next morning when something light and soft hit him in the face. Despite the fact that it didn't hurt at all, it was still surprising enough to make him jerk upright, looking around frantically to ensure that he wasn't under attack.<p>

Dean grinned at him from the end of the couch. "Sorry," he said. "Figured you'd want something to change into."

Castiel glanced down at the objects that had struck him, which were lying across his chest. It was a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. "That is very thoughtful of you," he said, looking back up at Dean.

Dean just shrugged. "You smell like smoke," was all he said.

Castiel frowned and sniffed the shoulder of his shirt, realizing that Dean was right. Funny, he hadn't noticed that until now, though he supposed that it made sense, what with being in a burning building the night before. "Thank you," he said, and headed to the bathroom to change.

Sam must have already been out that morning, because there were three take-out boxes sitting on the table when Castiel exited the bathroom. Sam and Dean were each eating out of one, so Castiel assumed that the third one was for him.

His stomach was growling – he was fairly annoyed with how often he had to eat, to be honest, even though that seemed like something that he should be used to – but the sight of the box made him frown for some reason. It wasn't until he was placing the clothes he had worn the day before into Dean's bag (after attempting to fold them neatly, despite the fact that Dean had apparently just crumpled up his dirty clothes and shoved them inside) that he realized what he was feeling. Guilt.

"I will find a way to pay you back for this," he said as he joined them at the table and reached for the plastic fork that Sam extended to him.

Sam just grinned. "Keep saving our lives, and we'll call it even on the food."

Castiel nodded, because he didn't know what else to do, though he didn't quite feel right about that. After all, the two of them clearly never wanted him to travel with them in the first place. Well, Sam hadn't seemed to mind, but Dean had made his feeling on the matter quite clear already. Forcing them to pay for him on top of everything else didn't seem right.

He didn't get the chance to say anything more, though, because Dean reached across the table – nearly dragging his shirt sleeve through Castiel's eggs in the process – and punched Sam in the shoulder. "We're on break, remember?" he said, then tapped his fingers against the back of Sam's laptop, which Sam had opened in front of him, just as he had the day before. This was barely the second day that Castiel had known him, and already he was wondering if Sam ever parted with it.

Sam pulled his laptop forward, trying to move it out of Dean's reach. "I'm not looking for cases right now."

"Good," Dean said decisively, leaning back in his seat. "Because we're not doing anything today, okay? We've been going nonstop since I got out of the hospital, and I'm definitely due for some me time, you got it?"

Castiel shot Dean a curious look, wondering what he had meant when he'd said that he'd been in a hospital. Well, Castiel knew what the words meant, and considering that they had each suffered at least one near-death experience in the past two days, he wouldn't be particularly surprised to learn that the Winchesters were hospitalized frequently. He couldn't help but wonder what had caused Dean to be hospitalized, though, especially considering that Dean seemed to be implying that he had only recently been released, and yet Castiel couldn't see a single thing wrong with the man. Whatever had caused him to need a hospital, he must have already recovered from it.

Castiel didn't ask, though, and Dean didn't supply any more information. He didn't even glance in Castiel's direction.

"I'm looking up info on Azazel," Sam said, his eyes not leaving the screen. He barely even seemed to be paying attention to his breakfast. "Now that we have a name, we might be able to learn something more about him."

Dean instantly stiffened. "You find anything yet?"

"I just started looking," Sam said. Dean said nothing more, just raised one eyebrow – which Sam couldn't have seen, considering that he still didn't look up – but after a moment, Sam continued, "I've found a few things, but this is the first website I've checked. I still need to double check my sources and compile all the lore that I can."

"Boring," Dean suddenly announced.

That finally drew Sam's attention. "This is _the demon_," he said incredulously, putting special emphasis on the last two words, as though there was something important about them. Castiel wondered if this meant that Azazel was the only demon in existence – which would explain why Sam had said _the_ demon, instead of_ a_ demon – or if there was some other reason for the specific way that he spoke.

"I didn't say that it won't be good to know," Dean defended himself, scooping up a forkful of eggs and beacon and shoveling it into his mouth, then continuing to speak with his mouth full, "But just because you have a hard on for research methods and special ways of compiling data doesn't mean that any of us care."

"I didn't ask you to help," Sam said, sounding grumpy as he returned his eyes to the laptop. "Just go watch trashy TV, I'll let you know when I learn more."

"Now that, I can do," Dean said with a grin. He grabbed his container and flopped down on the couch with it, balancing it on his legs as he grabbed the remote off the floor, where Castiel had left it the night before. He pointed the remote at the TV and began flipping through the channels, then settled on a show and turned the volume all the way up. Sam sighed and rubbed his temples, but didn't say anything.

"Just so you know," Dean said, raising his voice so that he could be heard over the noise, "I fully intend to sit here on my ass for the rest of the day and let you handle the nerdy little research things. Because you know what? I've freakin' earned it."

* * *

><p>Despite what Dean had said, it only took him a few hours to become bored of the motel room, and to begin complaining. And once Dean began complaining, it only took Sam a few minutes to grow impatient.<p>

"If you're so bored, then go find something to do," Sam snapped. "It's not like anyone's chaining you here."

Dean snorted. "What's there to do in the middle of the day?" he asked. "It's way too early to go get drunk."

Sam let out a long breath and looked over at Castiel. "Can you find a way to keep him amused somehow so that I can finish this up?"

"I'm not a little kid," Dean groused, crossing his arms and slouching lower on the couch. "I don't need a babysitter." Sam just rolled his eyes and didn't respond, and after a moment, Dean suddenly sat upright. "Come on," he said, jumping to his feet and motioning for Castiel to follow him.

Castiel did, with no small amount of confusion. Dean grabbed the keys and headed outside, and Castiel continued to follow, though he did ask, "Where are we going?"

"You said that you didn't know how to shoot, right?" Dean asked. Castiel frowned but nodded and Dean added, "I'm going to teach you."

"Are you sure?" Castiel asked, though Dean was already climbing into the Impala, which meant that there was nothing for Castiel to do except to follow after him, sliding into the passenger seat.

"'Course I'm sure," Dean said as he started the engine. "Besides, if I stick around there any longer, Sam's going to make me start helping with the research or something." He glanced over at Castiel, his face incredibly serious as he said, "Word of advice, dude? Always pick guns over homework."

Castiel didn't have the slightest idea what that meant, but he nodded, regardless. "I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do," Dean said, and then they took off.

They drove for about half an hour. Dean turned the radio all the way up and sang along to a variety of rock songs. He tried to make Castiel join him, but gave up after Castiel insisted for the seventh time that he didn't know the words to a single one of the songs. Finally, they arrived at a large field, with nothing around them for miles but rows and rows of wheat. Dean pulled the car off to the side of the road and pulled out his gun. "You ready for this?" he asked, an excited grin forming on his face. Castiel couldn't help but smile back as he took the gun from Dean, though the metal felt far too heavy in his hands.

"See that scarecrow over there?" Dean asked, and pointed to one about fifteen feet away from them. "Pretend it's a monster trying to get us. Shoot its head off."

Castiel frowned. "Isn't this destruction of property?" he asked.

Dean snorted. "Anyone who puts up such a creepyass scarecrow deserves to have it destroyed," he said, and made a vague gesture toward the gun.

"I'm fairly certain that this is illegal," Castiel insisted.

"Only if we get caught," Dean said. Castiel would have protested – he didn't think that that was how laws worked – but before he got the chance, Dean urged, "Come on, I've still got a vendetta against scarecrows. One of them tried to kill me last year, I need my revenge."

Castiel wasn't even surprised. "Don't blame this scarecrow for what another one did," he said. "That doesn't seem fair."

"Screw fair," Dean said. "Let's shoot things!"

Castiel's frown deepened, but Dean looked so enthusiastic that he finally sighed and lifted the gun, pointing it in the general direction of the scarecrow. "Alright," he said. "Now what?"

"You need to aim really carefully," Dean said, stepping closer and placing his hands on Castiel's wrists, to show him. "Lot's of creatures, you gotta go for a headshot, but let's start with aiming for the heart, that's a little easier."

Frankly, Castiel doubted that. He could see how the chest would be as easier place to strike a human, but the heart wasn't terribly large, and seemed like it would be easy to miss, especially in the middle of an attack. But he dutifully lined the gun up, until it pointed at roughly the area where the heart would be.

"A little lower," Dean said, although Castiel wasn't sure why Dean even bothered to give the instruction, considering that he just went ahead and lowered Castiel's hands for him.

"Better?" Castiel asked, after Dean had nodded and dropped Castiel's hands, stepping back and looking satisfied.

"Looks good," Dean said. "You need to take the safety off first."

Castiel frowned, not having the slightest clue what that meant, so Dean stepped forward and showed him, clicking the safety off in a smooth motion, then clicking it back on and stepping away again, gesturing for Castiel to continue.

The safety was clicked off, and Castiel waited to hear what came next.

"The gun moved a bit when you were messing with the safety," Dean said. "Line it up again."

Castiel did so, carefully moving the gun until he was reasonably certain that it was pointed toward where Dean had aimed it before. He spent a minute fussing about the exact position, shifting his aim a centimeter to the right or the left, trying to make it perfect while Dean huffed impatiently beside him. Finally, Castiel nodded. "I believe that I'm ready."

"Then shoot," Dean said.

Castiel looked toward Dean expectantly. Dean was watching Castiel with the exact same expression, like he couldn't fathom why Castiel hadn't done anything yet.

"You were going to teach me how to shoot," Castiel reminded him.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What do you think I'm doing?"

Another long pause, with neither of them moving or saying a word.

"You still haven't told me how to shoot," Castiel finally said.

He had hoped that pointing that out would erase Dean's confusion and remind him of what still needed to be done, but to no avail. If anything, Dean appeared even more confused now than he had before. "You don't know how to shoot?" he asked incredulously. "I mean, I understand not knowing how to aim or use the safety or something like that, but-" He broke himself off, shaking his head in a way that made Castiel vaguely uncomfortable, likely because Dean made it seem as though Castiel were missing some piece of vital knowledge that everyone was supposed to know, and Castiel didn't like feeling ignorant. "You just pull the trigger," Dean said. "The thing under your finger there. That's how you make the gun shoot. Geez, I'd thought that everyone knew that."

"Apparently not," Castiel mumbled to himself, and pulled the trigger.

The gun practically jumped in his hands, which he hadn't been expecting, and his first shot missed the scarecrow completely.

"Try again," Dean said, his voice encouraging now. Castiel nodded and lined up another shot. This time, he braced himself for the movement of the gun, and his bullet tore through the scarecrow's stomach. This time, Dean grinned. "Not bad," he said, giving Castiel a celebratory clasp on the shoulder. "Aim a little higher this time." Castiel did, and the next bullet lodged itself exactly where the scarecrow's heart would have been.

"See? Not so hard," Dean said, holding up one hand. Castiel stared it, wondering what Dean was trying to signal, and after a few seconds, Dean awkwardly lowered it.

"I believe that that was merely a lucky shot," Castiel said, and then proceeded to prove it over the next ten minutes, as Dean told him to aim for specific parts of the scarecrow's body, and Castiel missed every single time, frequently for several shots in a row. Still, after the first few times, he got to the point where he at least managed to hit the scarecrow more than half the time, so Castiel supposed that that was something, at least.

"Come on," Dean said, once the scarecrow was in tatters, barely hanging onto the stick that propped it up. Dean climbed back into the car, and Castiel followed, assuming that shooting practice was over, despite the fact that Castiel had only made a marginal amount of improvement. Instead, though, Dean said, "I think I see another scarecrow about half a mile up the road. Let's go."

"It really is very rude to be destroying someone's property like this," Castiel said again, though considering that he'd just spent fifteen minutes shooting someone's scarecrow, he supposed that it was too late to be arguing.

Dean shrugged, not looking bothered. "I figured that we get a pass on that kind of stuff," he said. Castiel gave him a quizzical look, and Dean elaborated, "Like, the scarecrow I told you about? The one that was going to kill me? I was tied up to this tree, right, and Sam was half a state away when he found out that I was in trouble. So he stole a car and drove up to save me. That wasn't a bad thing, right?"

Castiel thought it over. "You would be dead if he hadn't," he finally said.

"Exactly," Dean said. "So, most of the time it's a bad things, but sometimes we have to. We're saving lives. We don't exactly have time to obey laws and be good, upstanding citizens."

"What does this have to do with destroying the scarecrows now?" Castiel asked. "Neither of us are in danger."

Dean shrugged again. "Yeah, but you need something to aim at, and there's nothing else around. What if your shooting skills end up being the difference between life and death? Don't you think that that's worth some property damage?" After a moment, Castiel nodded. He still felt somewhat reluctant, but Dean did have a reasonable point. He was about to say so, but then Dean grinned and said, "Besides, destroying things is awesome!"

Castiel wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. He was beginning to think that Dean just enjoyed criminal behavior, and that the rest was simply justification. He didn't end up needing to say anything, though, because Dean stopped the car near the next scarecrow, and the two of them climbed out and resumed their practice.

After going through an hour and three more scarecrows – and Castiel wasn't entirely sure why there were even this many scarecrows in the field – Dean said, "Last one." He pointed to the scarecrow directly in front of them. "Go for the head first."

Castiel nodded, then lifted the gun. He took a minute to aim carefully, and pulled the trigger, sending the bullet directly into the scarecrow's forehead.

"Didn't take you so long to catch on," Dean said, making Castiel grin with pride, at lest until Dean added, "Of course, monsters are a lot harder to hit when they're moving, and none of them are going to stand around nicely while you line up your shot."

"Can't you let me enjoy this victory?" Castiel asked, a touch annoyed.

Dean's lips twitched up in a grin. "Sure, enjoy away," he said. "Don't think that you'll be ready to take a gun on a hunt anytime soon, though."

Castiel just scowled at Dean and raised his gun. This time, he didn't take more than a second to aim before he sent a bullet straight into the exact center of the scarecrow's torso, just to prove that he didn't actually need to take so long to line up the shot. And if Castiel had actually been trying to shoot the scarecrow in the heart, and had missed by several inches… Well, the shot was still impressive enough that Dean didn't need to know that.

Dean didn't appear to have even noticed the shot, though, much to Castiel's disappointment. He was staring at nothing, his eyes locked intently on the rows of dirt, even though Castiel saw nothing there that could be holding Dean's interest this way. Castiel wondered if he should ask, but finally returned his attention to filling the scarecrow with as many bullets as possible, taking careful aim and ensuring that most of the bullets, at least, struck their intended target. Hopefully Dean would mention whatever was on his mind, if there was indeed something he was thinking hard about.

As it turned out, Castiel didn't have to wait longer than a minute. Then Dean asked, "That's really all that you knew about Azazel?"

Castiel pulled the trigger, this time placing the bullet in the scarecrow's chin, then lowered the gun and turned toward Dean. "That is all," he confirmed.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked, voice tight. "You're not lying about this? You've heard absolutely nothing else?"

"Nothing," Castiel said with a nod. "If I knew more, I swear that I would tell you and Sam." Then he shifted uncomfortably, abruptly aware of the things that he wasn't telling Sam and Dean, and the lies that he was allowing them to believe. The angels weren't directly related to Azazel – not exactly – but they were likely an important clue. Perhaps it would be good for Sam to know that the angels were speaking about Azazel, in order to aid his research somehow? At least, it would help the Winchesters to prepare themselves somehow, even if Castiel didn't quite know how.

Suddenly, Castiel realized that he had not even thought about the angels all day. In fact, he was pretty sure that the last time that he had listened to their voices had been the night that he'd slept in the alley, after saving Sam from the Vetala. Not surprising, he supposed. The angels were difficult to hear on the best days, and he often had to concentrate in order to make out their voices. With all of the distractions of the past couple days, it made sense that the angels' voices had faded to the background. But still, it was odd to go so long without hearing even a whisper from them.

For a second, Castiel nearly panicked, wondering if he had lost their voices completely, and wondering whether or not it would be a good thing. He tilted his head and concentrated, and was immediately greeted by the murmur of their voices washing over his mind. He didn't understand any of the words – the voices were too faint for that – but he found himself breathing a sigh of relief, grateful that they weren't gone forever. They held valuable information, after all. And more than that, they confused him horribly, but they were at least a constant in his life, and he wasn't quite ready for them to disappear.

Dean, meanwhile, had relaxed, his stiff body posture instantly loosening once he'd learned that Castiel was not withholding information – not about Azazel, at least. "Okay," he said. "Okay, awesome. Let's head back to the motel, then. I bet Sam's given himself a nerdgasm over all his research by now, we should go hear what he's figured out."

Castiel blinked, a bit caught off guard by Dean's abrupt announcement, and the way that Dean turned and headed back to the car without waiting for Castiel to agree. After a second, though, Castiel merely nodded and followed Dean to the car without another word. Dean started up the engine and once again turned the radio all the way up, though this time, he wasn't singing along. Castiel wasn't sure why, but he didn't think that this was something that he should ask about, so he simply sat there and wondered.

* * *

><p>It turned out that Sam had uncovered quite a lot of information about Azazel. The moment that Dean and Castiel entered the motel room, Sam began explaining at length about how some sources believed that Azazel was a demon while others called him a fallen angel, and about all of the information that pointed toward Azazel being near the top of Hell's hierarchy. He couldn't, however, tell them anything that helped indicate what Azazel's plan was, which made Dean declare that the information was useless.<p>

"You never know," Sam said, clearly getting defensive. Castiel, meanwhile, stood by the wall and glanced between the brothers, wondering if he should get involved or not. He thought not.

"It doesn't tell us where he is, and it doesn't tell us how to kill him, aside from getting the Colt back from Dad," Dean said, flopping backward onto the couch in quite the dramatic fashion, then crossing his ankles and propping them on the couch arm. "Which we're not going to do, since you won't let me call him."

"The Colt?" Castiel asked with a frown.

"A gun that can kill anything," Sam said absently, not looking away from Dean. "And it's not like he'd pick up the phone even if we did call."

"You don't know that," Dean said.

Sam ignored him. "Besides, some of this info might come in handy," he said.

Dean snorted. "Like what?" he asked. "The fact that some people thousands of years ago saw a demon and decided to call it a fallen angel? That's supposed to help us catch the bastard?"

Sam grimaced. "Well, maybe not that part," he said after a moment. "But what about the fact that he's aligned with Lucifer?"

Dean pushed himself up on one elbow. "Dude, we're talking about a demon here. He's from _Hell_," he said incredulously. "You think we didn't already know that he's on the bad side? Now, unless you're trying to imply that Lucifer is actually real…"

"Wait," Castiel said abruptly. "You don't believe in angels?"

Instantly, Dean and Sam's eyes were both locked on his face, so suddenly that Castiel found himself flushing under their gazes. Sam looked to be about to answer, but Dean beat him to it. "'Course not," he said, like he couldn't believe that Castiel even had to ask. "What, don't tell me that you believe in this religious nonsense?"

"A lot of this 'religious nonsense' turns out to be true," Sam pointed out, his voice firm. "We just dealt with those villagers who were making sacrifices to that fertility god, what, a few months ago?"

"Fucking scarecrow, man!" Dean exclaimed, then shook his head and waved away Sam's argument. "Yeah, but that's different. Those are just some supernatural baddies that people started calling gods. And sure, they're tough, but they die just like everything else. But you two are talking about… I don't know, some wise old guy sitting on the clouds, with a bunch of winged babies flapping around him. Seriously, you think that that exists?"

"Well, I doubt it would be quite like you've described," Castiel said, trying to keep his voice calm, as if Dean's disbelief didn't bother him in the slightest. In actuality, though, the opposite was true. Castiel felt almost as though the ground were shaking beneath him.

"Whatever," Dean said, and shook his head.

"There must be some proof that angels exist," Castiel said, and turned toward Sam for his answer, already knowing that Sam was the one who would know something like this, considering the amount of research that he did.

Sam hesitated. "There are signs," he finally said. "Miracles, healings that nobody can explain, that sort of thing."

Castiel only had a moment to feel relieved. Then Dean said, "And they're all full of crap."

Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at Dean like he was being an idiot. "We're pretty much the last people who should refuse to believe this sort of thing, don't you think?"

"Yeah, well." Dean lowered himself onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling. He crossed his arms behind his head and added, "Trust me, I've lived through the 'miraculous healing' thing twice now. Doesn't mean that I've been touched by an angel. It was a crazy old woman with a reaper on a leash, and a… Well, whatever the hell that second thing was, but it wasn't some godly force."

Sam didn't say anything to contradict him.

Castiel spun around to look at Sam. "What else?" he demanded. "There must be some other proof, isn't there? Angels would leave signs, wouldn't they?"

"They would if they existed," Dean said.

"There are eyewitness accounts," Sam said slowly. He was giving Castiel an odd look, one that he wasn't sure how to interpret, except that it was clear that Castiel had done something unusual, even if he couldn't be bothered to try to figure out what it had been.

Yes, that was right. Castiel couldn't be the only one who heard the angels speak. Perhaps people had even seen them. That would prove-

"Crazy people," Dean said simply.

"A lot of people would say that we're crazy for believing in ghosts and monsters," Sam pointed out.

Dean laughed at that. "Yeah, but we know that those exist. The fact that my throat still hurts like a bitch is proof of that. We're talking about people who claim to know about angels, but have no way to back it up."

Castiel very, very slowly turned to look back at Dean. He didn't want to ask, he really didn't, but he found himself saying, "So what you mean is…"

He didn't finish. He didn't have to. Dean supplied the words for him.

"I'm saying that anyone who claims to have seen the angels in insane," Dean said bluntly. "Every single one of them."

Castiel nodded. Then he turned and practically rushed toward the bathroom.

From behind him, he heard Sam say, "I think you offended him." And Dean said "Shit!" There was a muffled noise that sounded as though Dean were getting to his feet, but Castiel was already shutting the door tight and locking it. Then he practically collapsed against it, taking a deep breath and trying to reevaluate everything that he knew.

Father Garcia had claimed that angels weren't real, and said that Castiel needed treatment. Castiel had ignored the words then, but it was different, hearing it from Dean instead. For one, Castiel was reasonably certain that Father Garcia would never have believed him if Castiel had tried to explain the existence of venomous snake monsters disguised as innocent women. The Winchesters, though, they seemed to know all that there was to know about the supernatural. They certainly knew far more than Castiel did. So what were the chances that he would be right about the angels' existence, despite Sam and Dean never having found any proof?

There was a sudden banging on the door, then Dean called, "Jimmy! Hey, Jimmy!" Castiel didn't move, or otherwise respond at all, and after a moment, he heard, "Fuck. Come on, just open the damn door."

Castiel took another deep breath, and somehow, this one did a better job of calming him than the ones before. He straightened and took another long breath, since they finally seemed to be calming him, so now hardly seemed like the time to stop taking them.

Angels didn't exist.

Castiel wasn't entirely sure if he could make himself believe that. Not yet, at least, even if it appeared to be the truth. But he was struck by one certainty, though – that he was grateful, at least, that he hadn't told the Winchesters about the angels' voices, so that he didn't have to see them watch him as though he were a freak, or insane. He might not know for sure what was happening in his head, but he did know that whatever the problem was, it was his to figure out.

And he would figure it out. Somehow.

In the meantime, though, Castiel turned and opened the door.

"Jesus," Dean said, and spoke the word as if it were a swear. He shifted and scowled, but after a moment, he said, "Listen, I wasn't trying to insult your religious sensibilities or anything. Didn't mean to piss you off like that."

"It's alright," Castiel said truthfully. Dean had merely been speaking the truth, after all, or what he clearly thought was the truth. The fact that it happened to contradict the one thing that Castiel was certain of and make him question his sanity was completely incidental, and obviously hadn't been Dean's intention. That seemed too complicated to explain, though, especially since Castiel was now more convinced than ever that he should keep the fact that he heard voices to himself. So instead, he said, "I don't have any religious sensibilities. I'm not sure what religion I would even call myself, to be honest."

"Really?" Dean asked. "Then what was with…?" Instead of finishing, he just made a vague gesture toward the bathroom, clearly indicating what he had meant.

Castiel didn't know how to answer that, so he simply shrugged.

"Huh," Dean said. "You're an odd guy, you know that, Jimmy?"

"So I've been told," Castiel said simply.

That made Dean grin, and he gestured Castiel back to the main room with him. "Well, all of this research talk went pretty horrible," he announced, then glanced between Sam and Castiel as he added, "Who's in favor of getting completely shitfaced plastered, huh?"


	8. Part 1, Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Castiel had never been in a bar before, so he wasn't quite sure what to expect. It ended up being far darker, louder, and just generally more unpleasant than he had pictured, mostly due to the fact that it was practically packed with people, all of whom seemed to be staring obsessively at the TVs along every wall. Dean seemed to enjoy the atmosphere, though, and Sam seemed completely unbothered by it, so Castiel did not complain.

He was, however, curious about what everyone else seemed to be staring at. Usually, he wouldn't care – or, at least, it seemed unlikely that such a thing would interest him. But they were currently standing and doing nothing, waiting while the woman behind the bar served drinks to a group of three men, meaning that there was nothing else to occupy his interest. So he gestured toward the TVs and asked, "What is happening on the screens?"

The Winchesters stared. Castiel was beginning to think that everything that he ever did or said would be met with that exact expression of utter disbelief. It was already beginning to be a bit tiring.

"Seriously, were you raised under a rock or something?" Dean asked, sounding more amused than anything else. "Or in some sort of weird cult thing?"

"It's football," Sam said, apparently taking pity on Castiel and deciding to offer an explanation. "A game that people play." Castiel nodding. Sam's explanation really didn't clear things up much, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless.

Dean was still watching Castiel like he was expecting an answer. Luckily, the other men left with their drinks just then, and the woman turned to them, asking, "What can I get for you folks?"

"Just water," Sam said. When Dean rolled his eyes, he added, "Someone's gotta play designated driver and drag your ass back to the motel room when you end up too drunk to walk straight."

"Lame," Dean said immediately, and ordered something called shots for both himself and Castiel.

The woman smiled and walked away, and Castiel thought that Dean's question would have been dropped. Apparently not, though, because the moment that she was gone, Dean turned his attention back to Castiel. "Seriously, though, where did you come from?"

Castiel shifted slightly, and his fingertips tapped out a rhythm on the tabletop. "I told you," he said.

"You said that you've been living on the streets and killing monsters," Dean corrected. When Castiel remained silent, he added, "Come on, there's gotta be more to the story than that!"

"There really isn't," Castiel said, wondering if this counted as a lie. Because that was, essentially, an accurate summary of his life so far, or at least of the parts that he remembered.

Dean raised his hands, although he somehow managed to make the gesture look strangely sarcastic. "Okay, okay," he said, giving Castiel an odd look. "Just asking. No need to get all defensive."

Castiel frowned. "Sorry," he said. "That wasn't my intention."

Dean shrugged. "It's cool," he said, lowering his hands again. For a minute, Castiel thought that they really were going to leave the subject alone, until Dean added, "But, I mean, considering you've been traveling with us and sleeping in our motel room, it makes sense that we'd want to know, doesn't it?"

Castiel stiffened. "I will be leaving shortly," he said in a tight voice. "Going to the Roadhouse, wasn't that what you said?"

Dean looked uncomfortable at that, and nodded. "Right," he said awkwardly, and then didn't say anything more about the subject after that.

Sam glanced between Dean and Castiel's faces. "And… You want to go to the Roadhouse, right?" he asked, looking over at Castiel. "Is that what you've decided?"

"It sounds better than sleeping on the streets," Castiel said, which was the most honest statement that he could make while still sounding kind. Although, he supposed that he was being a bit too harsh, so he amended, "Well, if this Roadhouse place contains people whom you consider friends, then I'm sure that there will be no troubles."

The woman returned with their drinks. Castiel frowned, slightly confused by how small they were, but didn't comment. Dean grinned as he paid the bartender, slipping her an extra five dollar bill that made her grin at him. Dean just winked as they collected their drinks.

"Let me guess," Sam said as they sat down at an empty table. "Your new goal in life is to get into her pants, right?"

Dean grinned and nudged Sam in the side. "I wouldn't exactly call it a lifetime goal," he said, "considering that I'd give it an hour tops before I get to check that one off the bucket list."

Castiel looked between the two of them, then turned around to look at the bartender, just as she turned and walked into the back room. The bar blocked most of her lower body from view, but Castiel still managed to see enough to confuse him further. He returned his gaze to the Winchesters. "I don't understand," he said. "Her body is significantly smaller than Dean's. I don't believe that her pants will fit over his legs."

For one second, Sam and Dean simply gave him that look again, as though they were wondering if he had really just said that. Then they both began to laugh.

Castiel watched them both, puzzled. It took a long time for them to control themselves. Castiel smiled tightly as he waited for the laughter to stop, slightly pleased to have sparked this reaction from the brothers, though he wished he knew what the joke had been.

In his experience, people's strange reaction were caused by Castiel's ignorance regarding something commonplace. Castiel glanced down at himself, and saw the jeans and gray flannel that Dean had given him to wear, and thought that he understood.

"This is some sort of cultural tradition?" he asked after a moment. Part of him wondered if this was a safe question. It seemed like the kind of thing that most people would know, and he didn't want to make the Winchesters ask further question about his past and – specifically – about the gaps in his knowledge caused by his lack of memories. But this time, he was curious enough to want to be sure. "Sharing clothes," he amended, when the Winchesters gave him a curious look, and then gestured down at himself as an example. "You have given me your clothes to wear, and now you are talking about sharing the bartender's clothes. I take it there is a connection here?"

"Yes," Sam said, and he kept a straight face, though Castiel could tell that laughter was threatening to break through. "Yes, exactly. I'd forgotten, Dean, Jimmy's already gotten into your pants."

Dean shifted in his seat. "Shut up," he grumbled, not sounding nearly as amused this time, which seemed to only make Sam laugh harder. Dean grabbed one of the small drinks and drank it quickly, practically throwing it into his mouth and then gulping hard. "Gonna need a whole lot of these things if you're going to be so immature," he grumbled, glaring at his brother. Sam's only reaction was to grin and giggle.

Dean gave Sam one last evil look, then passed one of the glasses across the table to Castiel. "Your turn."

Castiel didn't know what the glass contained, but he nodded and picked it up, sniffing it experimentally. It had a strong odor, one that he didn't recognize. After a second, though, he shrugged and drank, tilting his head back and pouring the entire thing into his mouth at once, as he had seen Dean do.

He instantly regretted this decision.

"Fuck," he gasped, slamming the glass down onto the tabletop again, because he had heard Dean use that word when he was upset before, and it was the first thing that came into his head. He coughed hard, trying to dispel the burning sensation that had filled his throat. "What was that?" he asked, or tried to, but he was coughing and wheezing enough that it took two or three times before he could make himself understood.

"I take it you've never done a shot before?" Sam asked, looking like he was trying his best to hide his amusement. Dean had no such qualms. He was unabashedly grinning like Castiel's reaction was the best thing that he had ever seen.

"No," Castiel said. "They were not what I expected."

"Dude, your face," Dean said, his grin widening even more. "I wish I had gotten that on video."

Castiel wasn't entirely sure what to make of Dean's obvious delight in Castiel's suffering, but he ultimately decided that it was harmless, so he said, "I suppose it must have been amusing."

"Amusing?" Dean repeated incredulously. "It was frickin' hilarious! Here." Dean grabbed a second shot and pushed it in front of Castiel. "Do another one."

Castiel frowned but picked up the drink, glaring hard so as to make it clear that he did not trust it. He knew better than to drink it all at once as he had before, he lifted it to his lips and took a hesitant sip. His face immediately twisted with distaste, and he pushed the drink back to Dean. "These are disgusting no matter how you drink them," he announced.

Dean shrugged and threw back the remainder of the shot that Castiel had rejected. "The taste isn't the point," he said, as if disgusted that he even needed to explain this. "The point is, they get you drunk super fast."

"Come on," Sam said, gesturing toward Castiel. "We can go get you something else if you want. What do you like?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel said. "I have never had alcohol before."

"Really?" Sam asked, looking surprised. "You've got to be, what, thirty?"

"Somewhere around there," Castiel said. Jimmy's identification said that he was thirty-two years old, and though he couldn't be sure of how accurate that was, it seemed like a reasonable estimate. "And yes, that shot was my first experience with alcohol."

"Huh," Sam said, the stood and began to head for the bar. "I'll pick something out for you, then."

"Thank you," Castiel called as Sam left.

It was then that he noticed the expression on Dean's face. He was staring hard at Castiel, looking positively delighted by this new piece of information.

"Never?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded, wondering why Dean insisted on asking this question again when Castiel had already answered it twice. "Never."

"You're serious?" Dean asked. Castiel didn't bother to answer this time – he thought that he'd made himself quite clear already – but that didn't seem to bother Dean at all. In fact, he looked even more excited now, his expression shifting from merely happy to downright gleeful.

"Oh, man," he said, with so much enjoyment that Castiel began to worry that he should be afraid, especially considering that the last time that Dean had looked this excited, they had been preparing to commit illegal acts. Dean scooted his chair closer to Castiel's and clasped him on the shoulder, grinning as he said, "We are going to have so much fun tonight."

Oh, yes. Castiel was pretty sure that fear was a completely appropriate emotion.

* * *

><p>Sam returned with a pink drink with a slice of pineapple decorating the rim of the cup, which made Dean laugh even more, and make comments that Castiel didn't understand about the girly nature of the drink. Castiel, however, enjoyed it immensely, and decided that it was worth putting up with Dean's attitude.<p>

"You have been hunting your whole lives?" Castiel asked at one point, mostly to make Dean stop talking. "You must have some interesting stories, then." And that, apparently, was all the prompting that Dean required in order to make him launch into a story about a group of guys called the Ghostfacers who were, apparently, idiots. Castiel didn't understand everything about the story, but he was used to that by now, and Dean's retelling was still funny enough that Castiel found himself laughing.

Dean grinned, looking pleased with himself as Castiel struggled to control his laughter, and immediately launched into a new story. This one involved hunting a creature called a rakshasa – a type of shapeshifter, apparently – which had transformed into a clown and utterly terrified Sam. Castiel listened and laughed, while Sam cut in every thirty seconds or so to protest that Dean was lying, while Dean denied even thinking of doing such a thing.

Castiel was fairly certain that Dean's story was, at the very least, highly exaggerated, especially when Dean took another shot and said, "So then I burst into the funhouse, right? And the clown's got Sam curled up in the corner, just bawling his eyes out."

"I was not!" Sam exclaimed, leaning across the table to hit Dean on the shoulder, too hard to look fully playful. "For one, it didn't even look like a clown anymore. It was invisible at this point. And for another, I was the one who killed the thing while Dean was busy trying not to get stabbed."

"Okay, okay," Dean said, acknowledging that. "But you admit that if it _had_ still looked like a clown, then you definitely would've been sobbing."

Sam gave Dean a dirty look and didn't respond.

Dean grinned, undeterred. "And you definitely almost had a panic attack when you had to sit in that creepy clown chair in the one dude's office."

Sam crumpled his napkin into a ball and tossed it at Dean's head, then turned to Castiel. "Hey, Jimmy, wanna hear about the time that we had to exorcise a demon while on a plane?"

"Okay, I think that that's enough storytelling for one day," Dean quickly said, getting to his feet and grabbing Castiel by the collar to pull him up as well. Castiel frowned, more than a little disappointed, but Sam just grinned and mouthed, in an exaggerated manner, "I'll tell you later."

Dean had finished all three of the shots – not counting the one that Castiel had taken – and there was only a small amount of liquid left in Castiel's glass, so Dean headed to the bar to buy them a couple of beers. He stumbled once on the way to the bar, which made Castiel wonder about his sobriety levels, though he otherwise seemed fine. In all honesty, Castiel thought that he should be more concerned about himself. He didn't feel drunk, exactly – though he didn't actually know when being drunk felt like – but the alcohol was enough to make him feel slightly warm, and maybe the slightest bit unsteady on his feet.

He was just wondering if he should take a break from drinking when Dean pressed a beer into his hand. "Cheers," Dean said with a grin, clinking his bottle against the side of Castiel's, and then taking a long drink. Castiel debated with himself for a moment, then took a drink. It was not quite as good as the drink that Sam had bought for him, but it wasn't nearly as strong as the shot had been, and Castiel found that he enjoyed it.

"You ever shoot pool before?" Dean asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Castiel replied, which was apparently enough of an answer for Dean, who pulled him over to an empty table covered in green felt. He produced balls from the various pockets, then grabbed two sticks that were hanging on the wall.

"Just follow my lead," Dean said, tossing one of the sticks to Castiel, who fumbled but managed to catch it without spilling his drink. "And feel free to be as horrible as possible."

"Why-?" Castiel began.

Dean just winked at him. "Watch and learn."

Castiel was absolutely terrible at the game, just as he had expected that he would be. He was, however, surprised to see that Dean was nearly as bad. From the way that Dean acted, though, you would have thought that he was the best player in the world. It took him five turns before he finally knocked one of his balls into the hole – Dean had explained the rules enough that Castiel understood that that was the goal – and when he finally did, he cheered loud enough that the half the bar turned toward them.

"Um, Dean," Castiel said in a low voice, glancing over at a muscular, tattooed man who was giving them a dirty look. "Don't you think that we should be a little bit quieter?"

"Why?" Dean asked. His voice was heavily slurred, and Castiel couldn't help but wonder if he had underestimated how drunk Dean actually was. "Don't want the rest of the bar to know how badly I'm beating you?" He leaned on his pool stick as though it were a cane and laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world, then took another long drink from his beer.

Castiel bit his lip, unsure about hos he should deal with Dean in his current condition. "Maybe we should return to the table," he suggested.

"Oh, no!" Dean said immediately. "You don't get to quit just because you're losing!"

Castiel thought about pointing out that Dean had only managed to sink one ball so far, so it wasn't as though he had a terribly large lead. But Dean winked at him again before turning back to take another shot, and so Castiel went along with it, though privately, he wondered what exactly Dean was trying to do.

The game took a while, mostly because they were both so bad at pool that they almost never managed to hit any of the balls into the holes. Dean did eventually win, as Castiel had assumed that he would, and when he did, he immediately threw up his hands and shouted, "Yes! Told ya that I'd kick your ass!"

Castiel narrowed his eyes, thinking that Dean's reaction was completely uncalled for. Instead of arguing, though, he just sighed and began rolling the remaining balls back into their pockets.

"Okay, who wants to play me next?" Dean asked, raising his stick his over his head like he was trying to gain attention. When nobody responded, Dean added, "Come on! A hundred bucks says I can beat any of you chumps!"

That got people's attention. The muscular man who had been glaring at them earlier now stood and ambled over. "Yeah, I'll play you," he said with a grin.

Now, Castiel was reasonably sure that Dean was either completely drunk or completely crazy, or possibly some combination of the two.

"Dean," he hissed, grabbing Dean's shoulder and leaning in close, keeping his voice low so that he wouldn't be overheard. "This is a horrible idea!"

"Relax," Dean said, shrugging out from under Castiel's hand, then looked around at the group of men who had approached the pool table. "Anyone wanna take bets?"

"Dean," Castiel repeated. "You are in no condition to be betting money on this game." For one, Dean was bad enough that it would be a waste even if he were sober, but the amount of alcohol in his system would just make it worse.

Castiel's point was further proven when Dean stumbled on his way back to the table, forcing Castiel to rush forward and catch him (which nearly ended badly, considering that Castiel was not quite sober himself). Dean, however, just laughed and patted Castiel's shoulder. "Don't worry, I've got the cash."

"You are going to lose the cash," Castiel said bluntly.

That only made Dean laugh harder. "You don't think I can win, huh?" he asked, and shook his head. "Watch me prove you wrong, then." Castiel was going to protest more, but Dean pulled a ten dollar bill from his pocket and pushed it into his hand. "Go buy yourself one of those sissy drinks that you like so much and stop bothering me. I got a game to win." Then he gave Castiel a shove in the direction of the bar and turned back to the group around him. "Okay, so how much are we betting, huh?"

Castiel bought himself a drink, just as Dean had told him to. He had asked the bartender for something pink, which she had delivered, and though it wasn't the exact same drink that he had had earlier, it tasted even better. It was also fairly large. He hadn't specified a size when he'd given the bartender his money, as he wasn't sure which size was normal, and she had evidentially decided to give him something incredibly large, which used up most of the money that Dean had given him. Castiel gave her the remaining money, as he was vaguely aware that that was something that should be done. Then, with nothing else to do, he wandered back to the table, being extremely careful to avoid tripping or spilling his drink on himself or anybody that he passed.

Sam had been doing something on his phone, but he looked up when Castiel approached. Noticing the frown on Castiel's face, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Dean is being highly idiotic," Castiel announced as he sat beside Sam. "You may want to interfere before he loses large sums of money."

Sam glanced over to the pool tables, then relaxed. "He's hustling again, huh?" he asked. "Guess he's chosen you as his new partner in crime."

"What?" Castiel asked.

"Don't worry about it," Sam said dismissively, and though Castiel was still concerned, he decided not to question it any longer. Perhaps they really did have enough money that Dean could lose hundreds of dollars without it being an issue. "You still want to hear about what happened on the airplane?" Sam asked with a grin. Castiel nodded eagerly, and Sam launched into his story.

* * *

><p>Sam's story turned out to be as informative as it was useful. By the end of it, Castiel felt as though he had learned a lot about how to fight demons, which would be useful to know later on. Castiel had an incredibly difficult time concentrating on the important bits of information, though, since his head was swimming and the world seemed to be slowly spinning around him.<p>

He was pretty sure that he was drunk.

Sam continued to talk about various monsters and how to kill them, and Castiel did his best to pay attention, even though he only heard about half of the words that Sam said. He also tried to ask intelligent questions, though half the time he ended up giggling at nothing, and he also had to hold the table for support, which was odd. Sam seemed more amused than anything else, and somehow Castiel found that hilarious as well, and doubled over in a laughing fit that lasted for several minutes.

Finally, Dean joined them, holding a large wad of money in one hand. "What's his problem?" he asked with a gesture toward Castiel. His voice was significantly steadier than it had been when Castiel had last spoken to him.

"You got him completely smashed, that's what," Sam said. "I take it your game went well?" he added, nodding toward the money.

"Yup," Dean said, holding up the cash and spreading it out so that Sam and Castiel could see just how much money he had acquired. "You have officially earned back the money you owe us for the food," he added, giving Castiel a squeeze on the shoulder. "You should've seen it, Sam. He honestly believed I was going to lose all my cash. That was the selling point, right there."

Castiel blinked. He wasn't sure what exactly he had done, but helping Dean to earn money seemed like a good thing, so he nodded. That made the world swirl even more. "Excellent," he said. "Glad to help, whatever I did."

Something about his voice made Dean look amused. "Wow, he really is drunk, isn't he?" he asked, then shoved the money into his pocket and added, "Now come on, help me get him out to the car. There are about twenty guys back there who completely hate my guts, I want to get out of here before they decide to start a fight."

"You, not wanting to be involved in a bar fight?" Sam asked, and snorted. "That's a first." He shook his head as he got to his feet, and said, "What about that bartender, anyway? I thought you wanted to go try to sleep with her, but you haven't even said a word to her the whole time we've been here."

Dean shifted, a frown forming on his face all of a sudden. "Shut up," he grumbled, and reached down to wrap an arm around Castiel's waist, helping him to stumble to his feet. "We gotta get Jimmy back to the motel room before he gets to the bad part of being drunk. No way am I gonna risk him blowing chunks in the backseat of my car."

"Right," Sam said. "Taking care of Jimmy is more important."

If Castiel was sober, he was pretty sure he still wouldn't understand what Sam's smile meant. Now, he didn't even bother trying to figure it out. Dean scowled at Sam, which just made Sam shake his head and smile wider. Castiel didn't know what that meant, either.

"You could help me, you know," Dean added as he started leading Castiel across the bar. Walking was strangely difficult. He wasn't doing it very well.

Sam snorted. "No way," he said. "You were the one who wanted to get him hammered. You deal with him."

"Some brother you are," Dean muttered, and tightened his hold on Castiel's waist, keeping him steady as they continued toward the door. It suddenly seemed much farther away than it had been when they entered, which was odd. The floor was also completely unsteady under his feet, which was even odder.

Suddenly, he laughed. "I'm Sam," he said, when Dean gave him an odd look.

That just made Dean look at him like he'd gone insane. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm Sam," Castiel insisted. Dean still didn't seem to understand, so he added, "The night that we first met. We carried Sam like this."

"Huh, guess we did," Dean said, tightening his hold on Castiel. "You're a hell of a lot easier, though."

Castiel nodded seriously. "Sam is too big," he said, and nearly bumped into a table.

"Yup," Dean agreed, pulling Castiel to the side at the last moment making him miss the table by an inch. Instead, Castiel stumbled and fell against Dean, who steadied him and started practically dragging him to the exit.

"I almost attacked Sam, you know," Castiel suddenly said. He didn't know why he was saying all of this, but he didn't see any reason not to talk, either. "I saw him pointing a knife at a girl and thought that he was the bad guy. I was going to put a stop to him." He stumbled again. "I didn't actually know what I was doing."

"Yeah, I got that," Dean said. "Guess I should be glad that you didn't, though Sam would've kicked your ass if you tried."

"Or the Vetala would've eaten us both," Castiel said, and Dean made a noise of agreement. They were at the exit now. Dean pushed it open with his shoulder and led Castiel outside. "I'm glad that I didn't, too," Castiel added. "I like Sam."

"Geez, why did I think that getting you wasted was a good idea?" Dean asked, though he didn't sound really angry. More like fake angry.

"I like you, too," Castiel assured him. "Maybe even better than Sam." Huh. Castiel hadn't thought about that before. He tilted his head, thinking. Then he winced, because that made his head spin more, and it definitely wasn't enjoyable.

Dean didn't say a word, just led him toward the Impala. Although, maybe that was because Castiel was still talking.

"It doesn't make sense, because I think that Sam is nicer," he continued. "Or, no. Maybe? I don't know, you're nice, too. But not nice like Sam is. And you don't like having me around, so that's another reason to like Sam better."

"I like having you around," Dean said.

Castiel shook his head. That was worse than nodding. "It's okay, though," he said. "I understand. You don't have to let me stay with you and Sam, or- or-" He couldn't actually think of any way to finish that sentence, so he just decided to forget about it and say, "Anyway, I still like you."

"Just get in the car," Dean said. Castiel didn't understand his voice. Because clearly there was some sort of emotion there, but Castiel didn't have any idea what it was, and that was confusing him.

Sam was also looking at them in an odd way. And Dean saw Sam's look, and snapped, "What?" Sam shrugged, but he kept giving them the look, and Castiel didn't understand that one, either.

Then he realized that he was going to be sick, so he stopped thinking about Dean and Sam and looks. He pushed himself away from Dean completely and stumbled for the bushes so he could throw up there. Dean would be upset if he did it in the car. Even drunk, Castiel knew that much.

"Oh, god," Dean groaned.

"Remember, this was your idea," Sam said.

Dean just mumbled something and then snapped, "Shut up."

Castiel was done being sick now. His mouth tasted disgusting.

Dean grabbed him by his arm and helped him to his feet, then pushed him into the car. Castiel fumbled for the buckle, but he missed it twice in a row, so Dean reached over and did it for him. "It's five minutes to the motel," he said severely. "You better now get sick in my car, got it?"

"Got it," Castiel repeated. He had officially decided that he didn't like being drunk anymore.

Sam was driving, so Castiel had expected Dean to take the passenger seat, where Sam usually sat. Instead, though, he circled around the car and climbed into the seat beside Castiel.

"Dude, you have got to learn to handle your liquor better than this," Dean said.

"You could've warned me that this would happen," Castiel said, trying to sound angry, but mostly his words just slurred and came out weird.

Dean just chuckled. "Now where would be the fun in that?" he asked.

Castiel just grumbled and asked, "How do I make everything stop being dizzy?"

"Just wait it out," Dean said. "You'll feel better in the morning." Sam laughed, which made Dean kick the back of his seat, and Sam protested that he was driving, but Dean didn't seem to care about any of that.

Castiel just shut his eyes and tried not to get sick again. The movement of the car wasn't helping with that at all.

Some time later – Castiel honestly didn't know when – he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Jimmy?" Dean said, quiet. Probably nobody but Castiel would be able to hear him.

Castiel opened his eyes. Dean was staring at him.

"Yeah?" Castiel asked.

"I do actually like you, you know," Dean said.

Castiel didn't say anything. Dean didn't say anything, either. Finally, Castiel nodded, then winced. But he told Dean, "Good." He nodded again, even though it made him feel sicker. He also tried to keep his voice quiet, like Dean's was. "Good. Because I like you."

The corner of Dean's mouth pulled up into a smile. "Good," he said.

* * *

><p>Castiel did not feel better in the morning. In fact, he felt significantly worse, as if his brain was attempting to beat its way out of his skull. Even the murmurs of the angels in the back of his mind were too loud, and even though he swore that he heard Dean's name being said, he couldn't even attempt to concentrate on what the angels were saying today. Instead, he curled himself tighter into a ball and pulled the blanket over his head, pressing his head into the pillow as if it would help to muffle the voices in his head.<p>

"He's awake," Sam said, still sounding amused by the whole situation, the way that he had the night before. Castiel groaned but sat up, even though it worsened the throbbing in his head. Sam was stretched out of the couch with his laptop in his lap, looking over at Castiel with a grin on his face.

It was then that Castiel realized that he was lying on one of the beds.

"What-?" he asked, blinking down at the sheets as if they would offer some sort of explanation as to how he had ended up here.

"You fell into Dean's bed and refused to move," Sam said, his grin widening. "Dean ended up getting stuck on the couch."

Castiel winced. "Sorry," he said, though he supposed that Dean was the one that he should be apologizing to, not Sam.

"You managed not to puke in my baby, so I guess I'll forgive you," Dean said, and Castiel realized for the first time that he was in the room, sitting over at the table and flipping through a leather-bound journal.

Castiel frowned. His memories of the night before were hazy, but he did vaguely remember throwing up as soon as he had reached the motel parking lot. And now that Sam had mentioned it, he did remember tripping over his own feet and landing in the bed, and how Dean had tried to persuade him to move to the couch, but had given up almost immediately. Although, Castiel wasn't sure if that was because Dean had been being kind to him in his drunken state, or if Dean had simply realized that it was a battle that he was going to lose.

Castiel also remembered that Dean had said that he liked him. That was nice.

And Castiel suddenly felt as though he were going to be sick again.

He scrambled to his feet. The sheets were wrapped around his feet, and he nearly tripped over them as he scrambled toward the bathroom, but he managed to get himself free and make it to the toilet just in time to throw up.

"You're going to want some aspirin," Dean called after him.

"Geez, the poor guy's going through his first ever hangover, you could at least try to be sympathetic," Sam said.

"I am sympathetic!" Dean protested. "That was good advice!"

There was silence, and then Dean gave a long sigh. After that, there was a scrape as Dean pushed his chair away from the table, then footsteps that began to draw closer to the bathroom.

Castiel believed that he was done being sick for now, so he lifted his head, just in time to see Dean standing above him, holding a glass of water and a couple of pills.

"These'll help a little," he said, offering them to Castiel, who accepted them gratefully. The thought of putting anything in his stomach made him worry that he would be sick again, but he obediently sipped the water, then swallowed the pills. Thankfully, his stomach didn't revolt, and he hesitantly took another sip of water. And Dean was right – it almost did seem to help, somewhat.

"Coffee's better," Dean said, as if he had read Castiel's thoughts. "I'm pretty sure Sam made a pot."

Castiel grimaced at the thought, but said, "If you say so, then I will try it." Then he added, "Thank you."

"No problem," Dean said. "I remember my first hangover. I mean, it was over a decade ago, but still. Sucks, doesn't it?" Castiel nodded weakly, and Dean added, "Plus, I figured it was the least I could do, considering that Sam keeps insisting that this was my fault."

"I did not realize that it would be this bad," Castiel said.

"Yeah, well," Dean said, then shrugged and offered Castiel his hand. "Come on, let's get you that coffee, you'll start feeling human again. Well, probably."

"Human sounds good," Castiel muttered, taking Dean's hand and allowing him to pull Castiel to his feet, then stumbled toward the kitchen table. Sam was still stretched out on the couch, grinning at the two of them as Castiel slumped into the closest chair and covered his eyes with his hand.

Apparently Sam had indeed brewed coffee, because a second later, Dean set a Styrofoam cup beside Castiel's arm, then dropped into the seat opposite him, holding his own cup in one hand.

"Okay," he said, tilting his chair back and looking over at Sam. "What's this about some strange murders?"

"You seriously want to get back on a hunt so soon?" Sam asked. He raised his eyebrows and smirked. "What happened to your 'me time'? You can't go more than a day without getting to kill something?"

"Shut it," Dean grumbled, then added, "Anyway, I didn't even get to kill the last ghost. Jimmy got that one."

Sam just shrugged, but he said, "Three deaths in this little town in Indiana over the past couple days. Two of them are being called suicides, because the victims were in rooms that were locked from the inside."

"You don't think so?" Castiel asked.

Sam shook his head. "Not unless you think that someone would actually decide to kill himself by swallowing roughly half a pound of glass," he said. "Or that someone could manage to stab herself over thirty times with a dagger without something supernatural making her do it."

Castiel grimaced at the mental images that Sam's words provided. "That sounds incredibly painful."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, then asked, "So how did the third guy die, then?"

"Mauled to death by a wild dog," Sam said. "Supposedly. Police found no signs of the dog anywhere on the scene – no fur, no paw prints, nothing."

"Huh," Dean said thoughtfully. "You think it's some sort of creature?"

"I think it's definitely something we should investigate, at least," Sam said. "Beyond that, I'm not sure. Although if I had to guess, I'd say that I'm leaning towards witches."

"Yeah, this is the kind of thing that they'd do," Dean agreed, then climbed to his feet. He downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp, tossed the cup into the trash, then grabbed a handful of clothes that had been scattered across the floor at some point – Castiel honestly wasn't sure when – and began shoveling them into his duffle. "Well, then, we should definitely hit the road before they try anything else."

"I agree," Castiel said, mentally debating whether or not he should stand and try to help as well, when his stomach was still slightly queasy and his headache was still threatening to come roaring back if he made any wrong moves. Perhaps it was better to just sit here and let them take care of the packing, but at the same time, he did want to be helpful and earn his keep.

"We're probably not going to get there until tomorrow, even if we hurry," Sam said, also standing to help Dean pack. Then he glanced back at Castiel and said, in a much-less-certain voice, "So, should we swing by the Roadhouse to see if Jimmy can stay there? It'll only be an hour or two out of our way."

Oh, right. Perhaps it was because of the hangover, but somehow, Castiel had forgotten that he was not invited to join this hunt.

"Jimmy?" Sam urged after a minute had passed with nobody saying anything.

Castiel cleared his throat, and nodded, despite the fact that his head suddenly seemed to be pounding harder than ever. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I suppose that that would be a good idea."

"Hey, Jimmy," Dean suddenly said, turning toward him. "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do? You know, long term, beyond just finding a place to stay for a bit?"

Castiel frowned as he considered the question, then had to admit, "Not at all. Honestly, I haven't thought past the next day or so." Actually, he hadn't even thought that far into the future, if he were to be completely honest. Well, he had known that he would be at the Roadhouse, but even then, he hadn't given a single thought to what he would do there, or what it would be like.

He supposed that he would try to find out more about Azazel and the angels. And do research to try to find proof that the angels were real, so that he could assure himself of his sanity – though that didn't seem entirely likely, if Sam had never been able to find concrete proof. Still, though, perhaps Sam had never looked hard enough. Perhaps there was proof out there that Castile would be able to find, if given the chance.

It still was far from a definite plan, but still, he supposed that it would do.

"Do you need a few more days to think about it?" Dean asked, his voice almost casual. There was something odd about his voice, though, that kept the facade from being complete, though if asked, Castiel wouldn't even be able to guess at what it was. There was something also odd about the way that Sam was staring at Dean, though that was equally-impossible to interpret.

"Yes," Castiel finally said. "I suppose it will take at least a few more days to decide." Likely, it would take him far longer than that, or else he would never make up his mind, and simply drift from place to place for the rest of his life without ever finding a direction. He wasn't sure if that would be relevant to say, though, since he didn't know why Dean was asking this question.

"Do you want to, you know, just hang around until then?" Dean asked, and again, his voice was not quite casual. "I mean, you can figure it out just as easily with us as you could with Ellen, don't you think?"

For a moment, Castiel wasn't sure what to say. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then nodded. "Yes," he finally said. "Yes. But why?"

Dean just shrugged. "Like I said, you're a cool guy." Castiel was going to protest that Dean had never actually said that, but Dean was already continuing, "And you have saved both of our asses now. It's not like we're gonna just kick you to the street after that." He paused, then made a point of adding, "Just for right now, okay? Just until you decide what you want to do. As soon as you know that, then you're going to go do it."

"I understand," Castiel said. Dean had said that he preferred to travel with only his brother. Given that, it was nice of him to even allow Castiel to stay for a short time longer, forget about offering a permanent invitation. Castiel made a point of meeting Dean's eyes, hoping that that would show how much he truly meant it when he said, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Dean said, which Castiel thought was odd – this was a very nice gesture, so why would he not want to Castiel to acknowledge it further? It made no sense.

Nevertheless, if that was what Dean wanted, then Castiel would oblige. "Alright," he told Dean seriously. Dean had glanced away, so Castiel continued to stare until Dean looked back over at him, and then he nodded once, to show that he was serious. "I will never speak of this again."

For a moment, Dean looked utterly confused. Then he laughed.

"See?" he asked. "This is why we keep you around."

Castiel's eyebrows knit together in confusion, but he just smiled. He did not understand the amusement, but that was alright, just so long as the Winchesters allowed him to stay.


	9. Part 1, Chapter 8

**Warning:** This chapter references to self harm of a minor character. I'm not sure if it would be enough to be triggering, which is why I'm including this warning, just to be safe. If you want to avoid that part, skip the next fews paragraphs after the line "Castiel winced and braced himself..." Also, I'm adding another **trigger warning** for torture.

**CHAPTER 8**

Thankfully, it didn't take terribly long for Castiel's hangover to subside. Not as long as he had feared that it would take, at least. He spent the first couple hours of the drive leaning against the back window with Sam's crumpled-up hoodie tucked between his head and the glass, keeping his eyes closed and trying to ignore the way that his head was pounding. After that, though, the headache began to disappear. It still bothered him, but it wasn't quite as painful as it had been before. He could open his eyes, at least, and the light was no longer bothering him.

Sam and Dean spent most of the time talking to each other – or, arguing, mostly, which seemed to be a common mode of communication with the two of them. They kept their voices down, though, which was very considerate. And Castiel liked to listen to them. They started off by fighting over what had likely killed the victims they were going to investigate. It was a difficult subject to fight about, considering that they both agreed that the deaths were likely caused by witches, but the two managed somehow. Castiel didn't think that it was serious, though. Neither one of them could make it more than a few minutes without laughing.

When Castiel finally felt well enough to sit up and join in the conversation, Dean and Sam were in the middle of what sounded like a deep discussion of whether vampires of ghosts were shittier. Sam was very clearly winning that one. He was better at arguing that Dean was, even if Dean was louder.

Castiel smiled to himself, and listened silently for another few minutes. It didn't take long for the argument to dissolve into Dean giving up and refusing to say anything, which led Sam to complain about how boring the drive was, and Dean suggested that Sam should stick his complaints into an undesirable region of his body.

During their last drive, Castiel had remained silent in the backseat for its entirety. Now, though, he cleared his throat, drawing the attention of both brothers. He shifted in his seat, feeling a bit uncomfortable about the way that the car was silent but for the low hum of the engine, but said, "I disagree with Sam. I find the drive to be endlessly fascinating."

"That's because you haven't made it a million times," Sam said, at the exact same moment that Dean said, "Ha! Two against one, bitch!"

Castiel was seated directly behind Dean, which meant that he was able to see it when Sam rolled his eyes. "Two against one, what? Since when is this a competition?"

"Since now," Dean said. "And Jimmy and I both think that the drive is awesome, which means that you're wrong, so shut your face."

Sam made a gesture toward Dean with the middle finger of his left hand, and Dean immediately made the same gesture in return, in a way that made Castiel think that it wasn't very complimentary. He frowned. He had seen Sam and Dean argue many times in the past few days, often enough that he no longer believed that their insults were meant in earnest. Even so, he decided to intervene.

"I don't understand how you could grow bored, even if you have seen these roads before," Castiel said. "Personally, I've found that there is much to look at."

"Like what?" Dean asked.

Castiel tilted his head, trying to recall the most interesting sights. "There were several men working with large machines about half an hour ago."

"Yeah, I saw that," Dean said, and snorted. "Traffic's always a bitch where there's construction."

"And the animals!" Castiel continued, with enthusiasm. "We have passed three farms so far, and I have thus far counted three cows, seven horses, two goats, and too many chickens for me to count during the short time it took us to pass their coops." And that was just during the time that he had had his eyes open; he was sure that there were many more than he had missed.

The last of which was particularly exciting. He had seen various farms while they had been driving to the Maison House, but today had been his first time ever seeing chickens, and he had gotten the chance to see them in such a large number. It was exhilarating. Although, it did make him wonder why his mind was capable of producing the names for animals that he didn't remember ever seeing, but he mostly pushed those thoughts aside, not wishing to ruin his good mood by thinking too hard about it.

In the front seat, Dean laughed. "Chickens?" he asked. "Really? That's how you get your kicks? Dude, we have got to get you out more."

Castiel frowned. "I am out," he said. "You are taking me to hunt a witch."

Dean nodded. "And thank god for that. Clearly you could use some excitement in your life if you're spazzing out about frickin' chickens."

Castiel's frown deepened, and he tilted his head further, giving Dean a confused look. He even glanced over at Sam, to see if Sam had any insight into what Dean meant, but Sam looked like he wasn't going to be a part of this conversation.

Finally, Castiel asked, "Nearly getting killed twice in the past week while saving both you and your brother from a ghost and a Vetala, respectively, was not enough excitement?"

"Touché," Dean said, and Castiel couldn't see his face, but he was still fairly certain that Dean was grinning. And even though Castiel did not have the slightest idea what Dean meant, he still found himself grinning back.

* * *

><p>"Okay, don't try to sugarcoat this or anything, just give it to me straight," Dean said, suddenly turning down the radio and using the rearview mirror to glance back at Castiel. Castiel immediately snapped to attention, looking up to meet Dean's eyes. They had been driving for about four hours at this point. After their discussion about chickens and other interesting sights, Dean had turned on one of his cassettes, and the car had fallen into relative silence, filled only by the wails of the instruments and the screams of the singers. Now, though, the music had been turned down to the point where is nearly faded into the background, which made Castiel think that whatever information Dean was after, it was serious.<p>

Castiel swallowed, nervously wondering what type of personal question Dean was going to ask, but after a moment, he took a deep breath and said, "Yes?"

Dean needed to look back at the road for a moment, but he barely seemed to glance at it before once again returning to staring at Castiel in the mirror. Castiel took another deep breath, trying to brace himself for whatever came next, and then Dean asked, "What do you think of AC/DC?"

Castiel's worry immediately shifted into confusion. He narrowed his eyes, waiting to see if Dean said anything more to clarify his question. He did not. After a moment, Castiel finally answered, "They're nice letters, I suppose. I'm not sure, I've never really thought too much about the alphabet."

"What?" Dean asked. In the passenger seat, Sam began laughing. Dean shook his head, then- "No, dude, this is AC/DC." He reached over and turned up the radio, where a man was currently screaming something about thunder. "Huh?" Dean asked, gesturing toward the radio again, like he wanted to be absolutely certain that Castiel caught his meaning.

Ah. That did make a bit more sense.

"Be careful how you answer," Sam said. "He might kick you out of the car if you get it wrong."

Oh. That was worrying. Castiel leaned forward in his seat so that he could try to look at Dean's face, to try to gauge what the answer should be.

Well, Dean was listening to the music, and this sounded like the same man who had been wailing from the radio for the past hour or so, so that must mean that he liked it, didn't it? Castiel decided to take a guess. "I think that it's wonderful?" he tried, hoping that that was correct.

Dean snorted. "Sam was joking, okay? I'm not going to kick you out if you don't like my music."

"Ah, I understand." Actually, Castiel didn't quite understand the Winchesters' tendency to say the opposite of what they meant, but at least he understood the fact that they tended to do that. He would just have to keep that in mind in the future. "In that case, I think that it is far to loud, and this man seems to do nothing but scream in a way that must be painful for his vocal chords."

"Geez," Dean groaned. "Tell me what you really feel, why don't you?"

Castiel blinked. "I just did."

""Yeah, I got that."

"Then why did you-?"

"Never mind, okay?" Dean said. "Everyone's a critic. You know what? Brian Johnson was an absolute friggin genius."

"That may be true," Castiel said, "but I don't understand how his IQ would be related to his musical ability."

"A _musical_ genius, Jimmy!"

Castiel decided that he should just give up.

"You know," Sam suddenly said. "It's two against one now. Why don't we try looking for a different station for once? Maybe something that plays songs written sometime in the last decade."

"What, so we can play your teenybopper crap?" Dean scoffed. "No way, Sammy. My Zepplin and AC/DC are sacred."

Sam scowled and hit Dean in the arm. "That's not what I listen to."

"What was that?" Dean asked, reaching for the volume dial and turning it way up, then screaming over the noise, "I can't hear you! The music is too loud!"

"Bitch!" Sam screamed. Or, Castiel was reasonably sure that that had been what Sam had said. It was a bit difficult to say for sure, what with the volume of the screaming. Castiel was fairly sure that he was going to go deaf.

Dean just grinned, then turned his head to glance back at Castiel for a second.

"Don't worry," Dean called. "This stuff grows on you, just wait and see. We'll make a classic rock fan out of you yet!"

* * *

><p>"Okay, stay calm," Dean told him in a low voice as they approached the house. Castiel thought that that would be difficult advice to follow, considering that the house was surrounded by police cars and covered in crime scene tape. Still, he took a deep breath and nodded and Dean, who nodded back encouragingly. "Keep to the back and let us do the talking," Dean continued. "They won't even realize that you don't have a badge."<p>

"Alright," Castiel said, and tried not to let it show that he wasn't nearly as confident.

There had been a fourth murder during the drive down here. Sam hadn't been able to get any details, other than the fact that the newspaper described it as "suspicious". But considering that they were in a small town that didn't typically see much violence, they'd decided that it was safe to assume that this murder was related to the other three.

Sam and Dean led the way into the house, with Castiel following, trying to hide behind them slightly. He made a point of keeping his head up and attempting to act casual, as Sam had told him to do on the drive over here, but it was difficult to play the part, when part of his was certain that someone would point to him at any moment and call that he was an imposter.

It didn't help that he stood out even among Sam and Dean. He was wearing a pair of Dean's black pants and a white button up shirt that fit him fairly well, as well as a tie (which Dean had had to tie for him, as Castiel had been utterly unable to figure out how to do it correctly, even after Sam had repeatedly demonstrated it to him). But though Dean owned an extra suit coat that Castiel could have borrowed, it was slightly too large in the shoulders, just enough to make it clear that the jacket wasn't his. Sam and Dean had seemed confident that Castiel was dressed up enough that nobody would question the fact that he didn't wear a full suit. Castiel wasn't so sure.

They made it inside the house without any issue, though a police officer did approach them as they headed for the living room. Castiel nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the officer eyeing him suspiciously. Dean and Sam, however, hardly reacted. Instead, they simply reached into their coats and flipped open their badges.

"Agents Malcolm and Angus, FBI," Dean said, as the brothers held up their badges just long enough for the officer to get a glimpse of them, then slipped them back into their coats. "This is our specialist, Dr. Young. He's here to consult on this case."

"Bringing in a specialist, huh?" the officer asked, and grinned as he stepped aside to allow them into the room. "Good idea. This is like nothing I've ever seen before, to be honest. I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Why don't you let us go take a look?" Sam suggested. "We'll come find you if we need anything."

"Sure, no problem," the officer said, looking over at Sam for the first time, then doing a bit of a double take. "Woah, looks like you must've been in a pretty bad accident."

Castiel almost wasn't sure what the officer meant, until Sam reached up and lightly touched the bandage on his neck, which was still covering his stitched-up skin. "It's fine," Sam said simply, in a voice that made it clear that he didn't want the subject to continue.

The officer, though, didn't seem to pick up on that. "You sure you're cleared for active duty already? Neck wounds are a bitch, aren't they?"

"Why don't you let us take a look at the crime scene and do our jobs?" Dean snapped.

Castiel had thought that that would just make the officer angry, but it seemed to work. "Body's through that door," the officer said with a scowl, and then he walked away, muttering something under his breath about idiotic agents who think that they're better than everyone else.

And just like that, the three of them were alone in the crime scene.

"See?" Dean said in a low voice, grinning at Castiel. "They didn't even question it!"

"That's not my name," Castiel responded, then added, "Those were not any of our names."

"Shhh!" Dean hissed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that nobody was around, then leaning closer to Castiel. "Make sure that you don't let anyone hear you say that, okay? And as far as the officers are concerned, yes, those are our names. You got that?"

Castiel nodded. "I apologize, Agent Malcolm," he said.

Dean clasped him on the shoulder, so apparently all was forgiven. "Don't mention it, Dr. Young," he said. "Now come on, let's go check out the body."

They weren't able to check out the body, after all. Not here, at least. The body had apparently already been transported to the nearest autopsy lab. Or, that was what Sam said had likely happened, at least, since the body was nowhere to be found. There was, however, an absolutely ridiculous amount of blood.

"This doesn't seem natural," Castiel said as he slowly looked around, staring at the various splatters that covered every surface of the room. He didn't even dare to leave the doorway, for fear of stepping on one of the splatters and contaminating the crime scene.

Sam, it seemed, didn't have the same concern. There was a small box near the doorway, containing pieces of some sort of fabric. Sam took two of them and pulled one over each of his shoes, then stepped into the room, being careful to avoid the worse of the blood. Dean, meanwhile, remained in the doorway with Castiel.

"Yeah," Dean said, rolling his eyes at Castiel, "I'd say that the fact that the blood is no longer inside her body is pretty unnatural."

"Actually, I'm fairly certain that bleeding itself is entirely natural, if unpleasant," Castiel corrected him, making Dean roll his eyes again. Castiel chose to ignore him, and instead pointed up toward the ceiling, where they could see the dried stains where a burst of blood had struck it. "I was referring to that, specifically. I can't imagine what could have caused her to bleed so dramatically."

"No EMF," Sam announced, holding up the small device. He must have drawn it from his pocket when Castiel hadn't been looking, because he tucked it away in his pocket now.

"Witches," Dean announced, loud enough that it made Castiel remember Dean's earlier words about volume, and he checked over his shoulder to ensure that they were truly alone. "I'm telling you, it's gotta be witches. They're always into the nasty deaths."

"Toss me some gloves," Sam said. There was another box sitting beside the first, this one containing rubber gloves, and Dean did as Sam said. Sam pulled them on, then bent down, being very careful to avoid getting blood on his suit as he did so. Castiel thought that it was a pointless hope, but Sam seemed well adept at keeping his clothes clean amidst messy crime scenes, as he somehow managed it.

Sam checked first under the couch and chairs, then though all the drawers of the small table, and finally behind the TV before he announced, "It is witches." He bent down, then pulled up a small brown leather bag.

"Wha-?" Castiel began to ask.

He didn't need to say anything more before Dean answered, "Hex bag. Witches use them to work their spells. Usually bad ones."

Sam nodded and slipped the bag into his pocket. "Now we just need to figure out if we're dealing with a whole coven, or if it's just one witch with a vendetta."

"You keep looking around," Dean told Sam. "I'll question the officer, see if there's any connection between the vics."

"Sounds good," Sam said, and headed back into the room. Dean turned and walked away. Nobody had told Castiel where he should go, so after a moment of indecision, he turned and followed after Dean.

"Hey, you," Dean called to the officer, making him glance up. "Any thoughts on whether this death is related to the other three this week?"

The officer frowned and shrugged. "They don't really look similar, but then, I don't know. We don't usually get this much crime up here." The man frowned, looking suddenly nervous and unsure, and Castiel found himself wondering whether or not he had ever had to work a murder case before. The man couldn't have been older than Sam or Dean, so he likely hadn't been an officer for long.

"Any connection between them all?" Dean asked. The officer frowned, and Dean elaborated, "Maybe they worked at the same place, frequented the same bar, all visited the same store?"

"Had some involvement with witchcraft or other dark arts?" Castiel added as another example.

The officer immediately looked at him. "Uh-"

"We're just trying to rule out all possibilities," Dean cut in smoothly. "Make sure that they weren't involved in anything that could get them into trouble."

The officer nodded, then froze. "Actually, there was this one lady," the officer said. "Malinda Honeywell, I think her name is. She got into some trouble a few weeks ago, something about killing the neighbor's cat. I got called in to drag her to the station; she started screaming that she'd been framed. She got pretty crazy in the end, kept going on about revenge and making people regret it. Then I don't know, she started going on about this magic stuff. I'm pretty sure she was high or something, because it didn't make any sense."

"High?" Castiel asked. "Like, her physical location? Did she climb on something?" Or, perhaps he should be asking Dean whether witches had the ability to fly.

The officer just stared at Castiel and didn't say a word.

"Did she have any connection to the victims?" Dean asked quickly.

The officer frowned, thinking that over. "I think that she babysat for the first woman who died. And I know that this victim and her went to some cooking class together, but I don't know about the others."

"Thanks for your time," Dean said, and turned to walk back toward Sam, hooking his arm around Castiel's to drag him along. As soon as they were far enough away, Dean bent his head toward Castiel's and whispered, "What do you want to bet that this Honeywell lady is our killer?" Castiel did not have the slightest idea what the odds were, nor did he have any money to bet, so he stayed silent. Which turned out to be a good decision, because a moment later, Dean continued, "And what the hell was with those questions? I told you to let me do the talking!"

Castiel hunched his shoulders defensively. "It helped us to get the information that we needed."

"Yeah, luckily. Things could have gotten so bad when you started talking about witchcraft, you know," Dean said. Then a second later, he laughed. "Oh my god, that guy's face was priceless. I think that you freaked him out big time!"

They had reached the door to the crime scene now. "What's up?" Sam asked as he came over to join them.

"Jimmy is officially never going to be allowed to join us for an investigation again," Dean announced.

But he was still laughing while he said it.

* * *

><p>It turned out that every single one of the victims had been part of the cooking class that Malinda Honeywell was a part of.<p>

"Sounds like a connection to me," Dean said as he tossed his duffle onto the nearest bed. They had spoken to the rest of the victims' families earlier that day, during which both Winchesters had insisted that Castiel not say anything, and Castiel had mostly listened. Now, they had decided to check into a motel room for the evening, so that they could get changed out into something a bit more comfortable. Sam was already digging through his bag, pulling out a couple different shirts and his brown jacket, and Dean quickly followed suit.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Especially with the other death."

Castiel nodded. They had discovered that there had been another member of the same class that had reached an unexpected end roughly a week earlier. He had fallen down a flight of stairs, which in and of itself wasn't suspicious. Coupled with the fact that the rest of the members were dying in such dramatic ways, though, Castiel was reasonably certain that that man's death was also involved somehow.

Dean made a face. "Anyone else in that class who's still alive?"

"One person," Sam said, pulling his jeans from the bag and yanking off his tie. "The teacher, Emmett Jackson."

Castiel frowned, walking over to sit on the edge of Sam's bed as he thought. "So, we should likely go speak to this Jackson, as he will likely be the next victim," Castiel said. "But-" He paused, considering. Sam seemed somewhat occupied with removing his button down shirt and pulling an undershirt on in its place, but he nodded for Castiel to continue, and after a moment, Castiel said, "Would it be better to go speak to Malinda Honeywell now, before she has the chance to try to hurt this man?"

"We still don't know for sure that she's the murderer, though," Sam pointed out, reaching for his flannel shirt now. He buttoned it up and pulled on his jacket, then began transferring his weapons from his suit coat to his brown jacket as he added, "We don't have a motive, for one."

"What about the story that the officer told us?" Castiel asked. "How she claimed that she was framed for killing her neighbor's pet?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "You think that she'd kill four people over something like that?"

"Witches are crazy," Dean suddenly said from behind Castiel. "Who knows why they do anything?"

"Sam's right, though," Castiel said, turning back to glance at Dean as he spoke. "We need to-"

His voice cut off.

Dean was also using this time to change out of his FBI costume, and unlike Sam, he wasn't done yet. He had removed his jacket and shirt, and as Castiel watched, he began shrugging on his own plaid shirt, but not before Castiel got a glimpse of his bare chest.

Dean was muscular, and had some sort of tattoo on the left side of his chest, which Castiel had noticed on Sam just a moment earlier, but hadn't paid much attention to. All in all, it shouldn't be anything weird. Privacy had been almost nonexistent at the men's shelter, and Castiel had seen a variety of men in various states of undress, so this shouldn't be any different.

The strange part, though, was that Castiel discovered that he enjoyed Dean's physical appearance. Maybe it was only because he only had a few weeks worth of memories to draw on, but for whatever reason, this was entirely unexpected, and for a moment, Castiel had no idea what to do.

Dean caught him looking. "What?" he demanded, then suddenly hurried to pull his shirt closed.

Castiel cleared his throat. "I was agreeing with Sam, about how we need to figure out what a possible motivation could be."

"Right," Dean said, then grabbed his jeans and jacket from the bed and stomped off toward the bathroom. "You guys figure out a plan, okay? I'm gonna get dressed." He then slammed the door without another word.

Castiel took a deep breath and focused his attention back on the case. "How should we formulate a plan?" he asked, looking over at Sam.

Sam was glancing back and forth between Castiel and the closed bathroom door, a very odd look on his face. For a moment, Castiel almost wondered if Sam had completely forgotten about the witches. But all he said was, "Why don't we head down to investigate Melinda Honeywell's house tonight? See if we can find anything witchy?"

"Good idea," Castiel said, then glanced down at the fancy clothes that he was currently wearing. "Should we dress in our FBI clothes again, and go 'interview' her?" he asked, making sure to make the quotations marks with his fingers.

Sam shook his head. "It's after eight o'clock, too late to pretend to be interviewing her," he said. "I say we just break in and see what we can find. Normally I'd say that we should just wait until tomorrow, but with four deaths in three days, I don't think we want to wait."

"Seems like every case we take nowadays is like that," Dean groused as he exited the bathroom. "It's always go go go with these things. Don't monsters ever take a break?"

"Apparently not," Sam said. He pulled out a gun and checked the magazine (Dean had taught Castiel that word) to make sure that he was loaded, then tucked the gun into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Should we get going?"

"You wanna change clothes first?" Dean asked, looking over at Castiel.

"I am fine," Castiel said, glancing down at himself. The shirt was fairly comfortable, and he had found that he quite liked the way that it looked on him, even more so than the plaid that he usually borrowed from Dean. The tie, however, was choking him slightly – Dean had tied it a bit too tightly this morning. Castiel reached up to loosen it, then decided to just remove it completely. Then, since there was no need to look as formal as he had this morning, he untucked his shirt, then reached up to undo the top button of his shirt. "Thank you for the offer, though," he added, looking over at Dean.

Dean was staring at him, the look on his face similar to the way that Castiel imagined that his own face had looked when he had caught Dean without a shirt.

Slowly, Castiel undid the second button. Dean's eyes didn't appear to leave his fingers the entire time.

That was… interesting, to say the least.

Sam cleared his throat, and both Dean and Castiel immediately turned toward him. "Let's get going," he said, drawing a blade and handing it over to Castiel, who nodded as he took it.

"Might want to grab a jacket," Dean added as he headed for the door.

Castiel nodded. "Thank you," he said, and opened Dean's duffle to pull one out. The one at the top of the bag was made of leather, and looked as good as any of the others, so Castiel pulled it out and started to pull it on.

Dean glanced back, then immediately shook his head. "Not that one," he said.

Castiel paused, one arm pulled through the sleeve already, frowning at Dean. "I thought that you suggested taking a jacket?"

"Any of them but that one," Dean said, and Castiel didn't quite understand, but he nodded and removed his arm from the sleeve, then carefully folded it and set it back down on the bed.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, looking over at Dean. "I didn't realize that this one was special."

Dean instantly looked embarrassed. "It's not," he said, in a voice that was utterly unconvincing. "I just-" He didn't finish his statement.

Sam glanced at Dean, then at the jacket, a small frown on his face. "Hey, didn't that one used to belong to Dad?"

Dean's scowl increased dramatically, and he shook his head. "Shut up," he muttered. "You two are making way too big of a deal about a stupid jacket," he added, striding over to the bed and grabbing his dark brown jacket from the duffle, then shoving it into Castiel's hands. "Just put this on so that we can leave."

Castiel wanted to point out that Dean was the one who was making this into a big deal, but Sam caught his eye, then shook his head. _He's weird about Dad_, Sam mouthed, deliberately enough that Castiel could easily read it. And it was obvious that Sam wasn't entirely happy with this, but even so, he added, _Don't ask._

Castiel nodded. Clearly there was more going on with Dean and his father than Castiel had known, and if Sam believed that it wasn't his business, then he wouldn't pry. Instead, he simply pulled the jacket that Dean had given him over his arms, and nodded. "I am ready," he said, and the three of them left.

* * *

><p>Melinda Honeywell was not the killer.<p>

She was already dead when the three of them arrived at her house.

The house had been completely dark when they'd arrived. Sam had led the way up to the house and easily picked the lock, and they had crept inside. Castiel had kept a tight hold on the knife the entire time, expecting the witch to jump out and curse them at any moment. He wasn't entirely sure how witch curses worked, but based on the ways that the victims had been killed, they didn't at all seem pleasant, and he was hoping that the witch wouldn't place a curse on any of the three of them.

Instead, they had found her lying at the bottom of the staircase, looking for all the world as though she had tripped and fallen. Given the circumstances, though, Castiel found that highly unlikely. And sure enough, it only took about five minutes of looking before they discovered the hex bag hidden beneath a loose floorboard.

"Okay, so if it's not her, then who?" Dean asked, and immediately answered his own question. "Who was that last guy? The one teaching the class?"

"Jackson Brown," Sam reminded him.

Dean nodded. "It's gotta be him," he said.

"Or there's some other connection with the victims, something that we haven't even thought of," Sam countered.

Dean frowned as if he had never thought of that, but after a moment he shrugged it off. "I say that it's that guy," he said. "Let's go try breaking into his house and see if it does any good."

"That sounds like the best possible plan," Castiel agreed. He looked down at Malinda's crumpled body. Her eyes were wide open, staring in front of her with a shocked expression. Something about that didn't seem right. He didn't quite know why, but still, he felt possessed to step forward and gently lower her eyelids, as if that would somehow help things. Sam and Dean didn't say a word.

"Alright, let's go," Castiel said, and took a step toward the doorway.

Then he collapsed.

He didn't know how it happened. One moment, he was perfectly fine, but suddenly it was as though his legs wouldn't support his weight. And his arms wouldn't work, either, so he couldn't push himself up. His ears were ringing, his eyesight going blurry, like the way it had been when he had been drunk, only so much worse.

His brain must have been affected as well, because it was several seconds before he realized that all of this was a terrifying thing. And even after realizing that, it was still a few seconds more before the fear struck him.

He vaguely heard cries that sounded like Sam and Dean's voices, and though the world was shifting in and out of focus, he still saw it when Dean and Sam collapsed beside him. That was what finally awakened his fear, and he tried to cry out, tried to push himself across the floor to get to them, to make sure that they were okay, but nothing was working, he couldn't make his body work.

Then he was unconscious.

* * *

><p>There was something tied around Castiel's throat. It didn't restrict his breathing at all, but it was tight enough to be uncomfortable, and for some reason, it was the first thing that he noticed. It wasn't until a few seconds later that he realized that his wrists were tied to the arms of his chair.<p>

He opened his eyes, and relaxed slightly when he realized that Sam and Dean were tied to chairs on either side of him. Having them both captives wasn't the best situation – it would've been vastly better if at least one of them were free, to come to their rescue – but this way, he could at least be certain that they were alive. Sam was tugging hard at his own binds, swearing under his breath as he did, looking far more awake and aware than Castiel felt. Dean was staring down at his bound wrists as if he hadn't quite figured out what was happening, blinking slowly as if he had only just awoken. And they each had a small leather bag tied tight around their throats. Castiel immediately recognized them as the same kinds of hex bags that had been found at both crime scenes.

That explained what the pressure around his throat was from, at least. Castiel glanced down, and sure enough, he could just barely see edge of the bag that was tied tight against his own neck. Castiel wasn't entirely sure what its purpose was, but he could already tell that it wouldn't be good.

"Just so you know," a male voice suddenly said from directly behind Castiel's chair, making him jump and spin his head around so that he could glare at the man smirking down at him, "I had a hex bag waiting for you in the parlor of my house as well. I would have caught you even if you had come after me directly, instead of trying to save poor Malinda."

"Who are you?" Castiel demanded.

It was Sam who answered. "Emmett Jackson," he practically spat. "Isn't it?"

"The one and only," the man – Jackson – said, his smile widening. He circled around the chairs slowly and came to stand in front of them, finally allowing Castiel to get a good look at him. He was older than expected, his hair a shocking white that contrasted sharply with his tanned skin. He was dressed simply, in a purple button down shirt and jeans, much to Castiel's surprise. He didn't know why, but somehow, his manner of speaking had led Castiel to believe that the man's costume would be much more elaborate. Instead, he looked like any random man of the street, if you ignored the long, silver blade that he casually twirled between his fingers.

For the first time, Castiel studied the room. He had looked around when he had first woken, but hadn't paid attention to anything besides the fact that Sam and Dean were alive, well, and also captives. Now, though, he realized that they were likely in a basement – he could see the stairs that led up to the first floor – and that this area was definitely a den of witchcraft. There was a table with a leather mat spread across it, with candles and symbols all around. There was even a human skull on a high shelf, watching them with its empty eye sockets. It was unsettling, but worse than that was the bowl of some mysterious liquid that sat on top of the leather mat, and Castiel turned back toward Jackson rather than staring at it any longer.

"So you were the one who killed those people," Sam said.

For a second, Jackson looked surprised, though Castiel couldn't tell if the emotion was genuine or faked. "Oh, don't tell me that you thought that Ms. Honeywell was the culprit," he said. "Please, that poor girl could barely manage to bake a cake without burning down the community center, let alone work any spells." He tilted his head, considering them. "You really didn't know that, did you? Maybe you weren't as big of threats as I had thought."

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel could see Dean looking at him. Castiel turned his head slightly. Dean tugged on the rope binding his left wrist, showing that he had gotten it slightly loosened, then nodded at Jackson.

Castiel was fairly sure that he got the message.

"But why would you do something like this?" he demanded. "What was the purpose?"

Jackson turned to Castiel, as he had intended. "You have questions. What a coincidence, so do I."

On his other side, Castiel thought that he saw Sam manage to maneuver his knife from its hiding spot in his sleeve and into his hand.

"You used some sort of hex bag to knock us out," Castiel said quickly. "You knew that we would be in Malinda's house."

"I'd heard that you were asking questions about the recent deaths," Jackson said simply. "I knew what that meant."

"What does it mean?" Castiel asked. No response. Jackson began to turn away, to look toward Sam. Castiel cast him mind around for something to say, and landed on, "Why wouldn't you just kill us outright? Why bring us here?"

Jackson looked back to Castiel. "As I told you before, I have questions," he said.

That was better. Castiel was fairly certain that the Winchesters were making progress on the ropes, though he didn't dare to look at them and check, in case his movement made Jackson notice what they were doing. Instead, Castiel continued to stare Jackson straight in the eyes. "What questions?"

"How you found out about me in the first place, for one," Jackson said. "And how many other hunters know about me. Don't look so surprised," he added, in response to the expression that must have appeared on Castiel's face. "I could tell right away that you weren't FBI. You knew exactly what you were looking for. So I made sure that I was prepared. You have to think ahead if you're going to make it." He stepped closer to Castiel and grabbed the leather bag around his neck, his fist closing tightly around it. "Now, I advise you to answer my questions."

Finally, Castiel understood the purpose of the bags. "You will curse us if we do not answer you."

"I will curse you anyway," Jackson said. "You know that none of you will be getting out of here alive. But if you refuse to tell me what I want to know, then your deaths will be far more painful that you want them to be, and there are so many things that I can do to you before you die."

Castiel swallowed hard, suddenly feeling painfully aware of the way that his heart was beating fast and hard against his chest, but tried to keep his face neutral, so that Jackson wouldn't know that he had made Castiel afraid.

"Now," Jackson said, his voice soft, "answer me."

"We saw the news story on the Internet, and thought that the deaths sounded suspicious," Castiel said. He still didn't dare to look over at Sam or Dean, but he hoped that they were making progress. He wasn't entirely sure how long he could keep talking.

Jackson nodded, as though that had been what he had expected. "My fault, I suppose," he said. "I should've gone for a simpler spell, something that would kill without being detected. But no, I wanted to do better than that. I wanted to intimidate. In hindsight, a stupid decision, but what can you do?"

"But why kill them?" Castiel asked. "What did they do?"

Immediately, Jackson's eyes flashed with anger. "You don't seem to understand which one of us is asking the questions here."

Castiel was vaguely aware that he should be too terrified to function. Instead, though, it was as though the danger made his mind sharper, allowing him to focus completely on keeping Jackson's attention without getting anyone harmed. Even the angels' murmurs in his mind didn't distract him from the task.

Any moment where Jackson was still speaking to Castiel was a moment where he couldn't notice Sam and Dean's attempts to get himself free. If Jackson explained his motive, then that would give them an extra minute or two. So Castiel said, "I will answer anything you like, so long as you first explain why you killed those people."

Jackson gave a vicious tug on the hex bag, momentarily cutting off Castiel's oxygen. He choked, and for a single second, he wondered if this was how he would die, strangled to death in a strange witch's basement. Miraculously, though, Jackson released him after only a moment, and stepped back.

And even more miraculously, he answered.

"That Malinda twit grew suspicious after she took the fall for something that I did," Jackson said, his voice precise and empty of all emotion, as though he were speaking of something that didn't impact him in the slightest. "She shared her concerns with the other members of my class. It wasn't an issue at first – the whole town just believed that she was insane – but then they began to wonder, and to search, and they found things that they shouldn't have, and so they had to be killed."

Castiel opened his mouth, then closed it, trying to make sense of that explanation. After a moment, though, he thought that he understood. "You were the one who killed the neighbor's pet, likely for some sort of spell," he began slowly, reasoning the story out in his head as he spoke. "She somehow realized that it was you, and discovered your witchcraft. And then the rest of the class found out, so you killed them to preserve the secret?"

"Well, it didn't exactly preserve the secret, now did it?" Jackson said. "I was hoping that the first death would be enough to keep them quiet, but after that didn't work, I knew that I was going to have to go hide out somewhere else, anyway. The deaths were just punishment at that point."

Castiel nodded. That made sense, or as much sense as a motive for murder ever could, in the nonsensical way that murders thought.

"Now, your turn to finish giving me answers," Jackson said. He twirled the knife in his hands again, slowly this time. "How many of your other hunter friends know about me?"

Sam and Dean must have nearly freed themselves by now, right? "None," Castiel said, because he couldn't tell whether the truth or a lie would be more beneficial at that moment, so he thought that he may as well be honest.

Jackson shook his head. "Don't try to lie to me."

"It is not a lie."

"I don't believe you," Jackson said. "You expect me to believe that you don't have friends that know where you are right now, and who will come looking for you if you disappear?"

If Castiel had to guess, he would say that it was likely that Dean and Sam did have friends like that. There was Ellen, Ash, and Jo, to name a few, and Castiel thought that there were probably more friends whom the Winchesters had never mentioned to him. However, he didn't think that any of them knew where they were at the moment. He wasn't even sure how long it would take them to notice if the Winchesters went missing, considering that Castiel hadn't seen either Winchester talk to any of those people at all in the past week, so they didn't appear to stay in close contact.

"Let's test this," Jackson suddenly announced, holding up the knife. "Tell me the truth, and the pain will stop."

Castiel winced and braced himself, expecting to be stabbed at any moment. He wasn't. Instead, Jackson rolled up his sleeve, revealing a long line of horizontal scars. Castiel frowned, not understanding.

"I'll start with a small curse," Jackson promised, and smiled. "It's always better to begin small when one has time on their hands. It gives you a lot of time to build up to something far worse." Then he drew the knife sliced along his arm, creating another cut that ran parallel to the others. If the wound hurt him, it didn't show at all on his face. Instead, he merely walked over the bowl that was sitting on the table, and tilted his arm to allow the blood to pour into it as he began chanting in what Castiel instantly recognized as Latin.

"Dolor, descendē in hunc!" Jackson chanted slowly, his eyes closing and his voice taking on an almost lyrical quality. Excruciā virum." _Pain, descend upon this man! Torture the man. _

As with the spell that he had used to find the Winchesters, Castiel didn't know why he could understand the Latin being spoken, or where he could have possibly learned it. But that was far from his most pressing concern at the moment.

Jackson continued to chant.

"Devorā animum eum, sed non nocē corpori ei."

_Devour his mind, but do not harm his body._

Dean and Sam were both sawing harder at the ropes than ever. Castiel wasn't sure if they knew Latin, and if they knew exactly what Jackson was doing. But maybe they were reacting to the fear in Castiel's face, or maybe they just knew that allowing Jackson to finish his spell wasn't a good idea. Castiel just hoped that one of them would free themselves in time.

"Facē virum captivum tuum."

_Make the man your prisoner._

There was nothing that Castiel could do, and so he did not try. Instead, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, bracing himself to withstand whatever pain Jackson had in store for him.

It never came.

Instead, Dean began convulsing.

Castiel's eyes flew open the moment that he sensed Dean's movements beside him. Dean's teeth were gritted so tightly that he couldn't even make a sound, but his head was thrown back, so stiff that the veins in his neck seemed to be bulging out of his skin, his entire body seizing so hard that the chair's legs were bouncing off the ground, nearly knocking him over.

"Dean!" he heard Sam scream, and Castiel was fairly certain that he did the same. He couldn't tell, though. He was too busy yanking frantically at his bonds, trying to force himself free, to no avail. The more he struggled, the tighter the ropes seemed to hold him.

It seemed to go on and on, for far longer than Castiel could stand.

Then, finally, Jackson's chant stopped, and Dean sagged in his seat, eyes closed, his breathing hard.

"See, that's the thing about pain curses," Jackson said casually, as if they were having a calm conversation about something completely ordinary. "They can last for forever. See, if you do anything to actually injure the person you're cursing, then there's only so long that you can last before it eventually kills them. But if you just curse them with pain without actually doing anything to physically harm their body – well, then it can go on and on, without end, for however long I want it to."

"You- horrible man," Castiel spat, stumbling over the insult, because he couldn't think of a word strong enough to express the burning hatred that he felt for the man before him, so that would have to do.

"Do you want to change your answer?" Jackson asked, his voice still calm.

"Yes," Castiel said. Clearly Jackson expected for there to be some other hunter who would come attack them, and even though that wasn't the case, Castiel was willing to say anything if it would prevent Jackson from unleashing that torture on Dean again. "There are two hunters who know that we are here."

"Who?" Jackson demanded, his voice flat.

Castiel quickly cast his mind around. The first names that came to mind were those of the hunters at the Roadhouse, but he quickly discarded the idea of using those names. The last thing that he wanted to do was place real people in danger by causing Jackson to hunt them down.

"Well," Jackson prompted after a moment, his voice flat and sinister.

"Hester and Balthazar," Castiel said quickly, speaking the next names to pop into his head, without bothering to take the time to wonder where they had come from.

"And?" Jackson prompted again. When Castiel didn't say anything more, he asked, "Who are these two? How do you know them? Why do they know about me?"

"They're my... siblings," Castiel said. It seemed like a reasonable lie. Sam and Dean hunted together, so clearly it was a family thing, in many cases.

"And?" Jackson prompted again, then shook his head and moved his cut arm over the bowl again before Castiel got the chance to say anything more. "Perhaps another dose would be enough to make you more talkative."

"No!" Castiel shouted, but Jackson paid him no heed, just began his chant again.

Dean made a small, pained sound. Castiel found himself staring at Dean, terrified of watching, but also terrified of looking away. The spell clearly hadn't taken affect again yet, but it was only a matter of moments before that changed, Castiel was certain. Dean's eyes were closed, his hands twitching from the anticipation of pain, his breathing coming harder than before, like he was on the edge of panic.

Castiel could see the exact moment that the spell took affect, because Dean cried out, his body going taut, like a wire that was stretched nearly to the point of snapping.

That was also the exact moment that Sam finished cutting through the second rope.

Castiel had been too caught up in his worry over Dean that he hadn't even noticed that Sam had made so much progress with the knife, but somehow, Sam had managed to cut through both the rope holding his right arm to the chair and the rope tying his ankles to the chair legs. Sam didn't even bother trying to cut his left arm free, just threw himself at Jackson, dragging the chair behind him.

The two collided, the shock cutting off Jackson's words, and Dean's body instantly relaxed. Sam and Jackson were going at each other, and from his angle, Castiel couldn't see what was happening, only that the two of them both clutched their knives and were attempting to kill each other with them.

Again, Castiel tugged hard at the ropes, but he still couldn't get himself free. His mind was a whirlwind of panic, his thoughts a repeating chorus of fear that Sam would die, that Dean would be tortured again, that they were going to lose this battle.

Then Jackson collapsed, with Sam's knife buried in his chest, all the way up to the hilt.

Sam grabbed the knife and quickly pulled it from Jackson's body, then stabbed him again, and then a third time. Insurance, Castiel thought dimly, his mind lost in a rush of relief so strong that for a moment, he could barely manage to think anything else. Sam was making sure that Jackson was really dead, that he wouldn't be able to recover from this wound.

Sam grabbed the knife and wiped it quickly across Jackson's jeans, then jumped over the man's corpse in his hurry to get to Dean's side. He had finally managed to pull himself free from the last rope binding him to the chair, and so he had both hands free to work on cutting the hopes holding Dean in place. Doing so took only a moment, and then Sam's hands were instantly on Dean's shoulders, helping to support him. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean head shifted slightly, and he let out a long breath before managing a nod. "I'm fine," he insisted, his voice too low and slurred for it to be entirely believable, but at least he no longer appeared to be experiencing the horrible pain that he had been suffering earlier. "I'm fine," Dean said again after a moment. "You should..." He swallowed and took a deep breath. "You should go cut Jimmy free."

"Don't worry about me," Castiel said quickly. "I am not in any danger. Make sure that Dean is okay before you free me."

Sam studied Dean's face for a long moment, then nodded and turned, making quick work of the ropes that held Castiel down. And despite his protests, Castiel had to admit that he was grateful that he had been freed so quickly. It meant that he could jump out of his seat and rush over to kneel on Dean's other side, to be certain that Dean was truly unharmed.

Dean's breathing was already easier, though he was still lying limply in his chair. Castiel touched Dean's shoulder, as Sam had done, his other hand moving to cup Dean's cheek. Dean's eyes were only half open, and Castiel carefully tilted Dean's face so that it was turned toward him, allowing him to search Dean's eyes for any sign that he was still in pain.

Dean looked exhausted, and his body still trembled slightly, but it did seem as though Jackson had told the truth when he'd said that he hadn't done anything to physically injure Dean. Even so, it was impossible for Castiel to stop himself from asking, "You're certain that you are alright? Really, truly certain?"

Dean groaned and nodded again, then pushed himself up so he was sitting straight, though the effort made the trembling in his arms worsen. Castiel quickly took his hand off Dean's shoulder and moved to his waist, trying to offer whatever assistance he could, to make it easier for him to remain upright.

His aid would have been much more helpful if he used both hands, but for some reason, Castiel didn't want to move his right hand from Dean's face.

Dean's head tilted to the side, almost as if he were pressing his cheek against Castiel's hand, which made Castiel think that he felt the same.

"Bastard did a number on me," Dean said, his voice slightly breathless. "But yeah, I'm fine. Not the worst torture I've ever been hit with."

That didn't make Castiel feel even the slightest bit better. Instead, all it did was make him think about how Dean and Sam both seemed to have extremely high pain tolerances, as evident by the way that Dean was already beginning to shake off the torture. And that made him wonder about how they had built up such a high pain threshold, and how painful Jackson's spell must have been, to cause Dean to react so strongly.

And there was the fact that the spell had been designed to do more than cause pain.

"Are you certain?" Castiel asked, then, "Do you feel… sane?" He wasn't sure how to phrase that question properly, but he had to ask it. He had to be sure that the spell had not gone on long enough to harm him permanently.

Judging by the way that Dean looked at him, he hadn't understood the meaning behind Jackson's words. Castiel thought that Sam might have, though, because he didn't seem surprised by the question. Instead, he was watching Dean's face carefully, like he was also waiting for an answer.

"What?" Dean asked looking confused for a moment, but still, he answered, "Yeah, I guess. As sane as normal, at least." His eyes flickered up to meet Castiel's, and a second later, Dean's hand reached up and closed around Castiel's wrist. "I mean it, I'm okay. Give me a couple of minutes to catch my breath and I'll be good as new."

Castiel studied Dean's face for a long moment, still searching for the slightest sign that Dean was lying. But, though it was clear that Dean was still struggling with the aftereffects of the curse, it was also equally clear that Dean was telling the truth. And Castiel supposed that he had to consider the possibility that there could be some sort of effect that Dean did not know about, but the longer that he stared, the more it seemed to him as though that wasn't the case.

And finally, Castiel could relax. He felt his entire body sag, the same way that Dean had gone limp after Jackson had ended the torture the first time. That seemed to be an apt comparison, actually. Castiel felt his relief as an actual, physical sensation, as though he had been the one that Jackson had been hurting with his curse, but now he was finally free from the pain.

"Stay still for a minute," Castiel urged him. "Take as much time as you need. Just allow yourself to recover."

Dean nodded, and squeezed Castiel's wrist lightly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel caught Sam staring at them, and looked away from Dean just long enough to get a better look at the younger Winchester's expression. It was similar to the way that Sam had looked at them earlier, after Dean had chosen to go change his clothes in the bathroom, only… stronger, somehow. Castiel wasn't sure how to describe it, to be honest, so he simply decided to ignore it.

Dean, however, caught sight of the look that Sam was giving them, then immediately stiffened. Castiel leaned forward, suddenly worried that the curse had had some sort of delayed effect that was only now affecting Dean, but that didn't appear to be the case. At least, Dean didn't look as though he were in pain. Instead, he dropped Castiel's wrist and sat up straighter, quickly lifting his head so that it no longer rested against Castiel's hand.

"I'm good enough," Dean said quickly, and tried to stand. "Come on, let's get back to the motel."

Despite his words, Dean clearly wasn't as recovered as he pretended to be. He stumbled the moment that he was on his feet, and would have fallen if both Castiel and Sam hadn't reached forward to steady him.

"Thanks," Dean grunted, and shifted closer to his brother. Sam nodded and wrapped his arm tighter around Dean's waist. Castiel's hands fell away.

Sam and Dean led the way out of the house, with Sam still supporting most of his brother's weight. Castiel trailed behind them, feeling strangely hurt, and not entirely certain why.

Dean didn't look back once during the entire time that they were walking, but Sam did. As they were walking up the basement stairs, Sam turned his head around and gave Castiel yet another one of those looks that Castiel was unable to interpret. And, just like before, Castiel chose to ignore it. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on the back of Dean's head, and slowly, Sam turned back around.


	10. Part 1, Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

After the night that they had had, Castiel would have preferred to return to the motel room and rest for the remainder of the evening. Dean, though, apparently felt otherwise.

"Geez, would you two stop worrying?" Dean demanded as Sam parked behind the Impala. Their car had been left in front of Malinda Honeywell's house when they'd been kidnaped, so Sam had grabbed the keys to Jackson's car before they left his house, so that they could drive it back to the Impala. Castiel had half been expecting for the street to be filled with police officers when they arrived, but everything was completely quiet. Apparently nobody had learned of Malinda's death yet.

"I mean, really," Dean continued as he climbed out of the passenger seat. "You get hit with one little curse, and all of a sudden people start treating you like you're made of glass."

"I wouldn't exactly call that a little curse," Sam said doubtfully as he and Castiel followed Dean over to the Impala.

"Whatever," Dean said dismissively. "We just killed a witch. That means we gotta go celebrate!"

"This hunt wasn't exactly a success, though," Castiel couldn't help but point out. "He managed to kill every one of his targets before we stopped him," he said, and very nearly added that the fact that Dean had been subjected to so much pain made celebrating the last thing that Castiel felt like doing, but remembered how upset Dean had been over that the last time, and restrained himself.

"So we go drink to the fact that at least he won't be killing anyone else," Dean snapped. "Come on! Like you two seem way too eager to point out, I was the one who just got cursed by that son of a bitch. If I say that I wanna go get drunk off my ass, then that's what we're going to do."

Sam and Castiel had exchanged glances after that, but neither of them had been able to argue after that. And so there they were almost an hour later, hanging around in a dark and somewhat-disgusting bar, because that was what Dean had wanted.

"I bet that I can beat anyone in this bar," Sam announced, taking another swig of his beer and casually using his pool stick to gesture toward Castiel. "Seriously, Jimmy, tell them how good I am!"

Castiel nodded absently, not looking over at Sam. He was too busy searching the crowd. But he did remember to say, "Yes, you are very good. I'm sure that you are going to win." His voice wasn't at all convincing, but then, that was the point. After his and Sam's first few failed attempts at hustling pool together, Sam had given up on trying to get Castiel to give a performance that was convincing enough to trick their fellow patrons into believing that Castiel actually thought Sam would lose his money. Now, Sam told Castiel to just agree with everything that he said. Apparently Castiel sounded awkward enough that it made everyone think that Castiel was just humoring Sam, and did more to convince the crowd than any lie that Castiel could have told.

Part of Castiel wondered if he should be at all worried that his acting skills were apparently so bad, especially considering the variety of secrets that he was endeavoring to keep, but he wasn't particularly concerned at the current moment.

"Hell yes I am," Sam announced, his voice slightly slurred in an impressive impersonation of a drunk man's voice, despite the fact that he had been drinking the same beer for the past half hour, and was still only halfway done. And sure enough, the combination of Sam's talented acting and Castiel's awkward confirmation of Sam's skills was enough to make a man step forward and challenge him. Sam grinned and bragged about his skills some more, and started betting higher and higher sums until the man had agreed to bet five hundred dollars on this one game, and several other patrons began crowding around, offering to make other bets with Sam regarding the outcome of the game.

Sam was very clearly in his element, gathering more and more bets with ease. It was clear that he wasn't enjoying the hustling in the same way that Dean obviously had, but that didn't stop him from being good at it, and within a few minutes, he had about half a dozen men putting money on the outcome of the game. Sam smiled, stumbled a bit as he approached the table, then immediately made the first shot that he took.

Clearly Sam didn't need Castiel's help any longer, if he had ever needed it in the first place. Which was fortunate, because Castiel was utterly preoccupied with staring around the bar.

When Dean had first said that he wanted to go to a bar tonight, Castiel had assumed that the three of them would be drinking together, as they had the last time. He'd been wrong, though. The moment that they'd arrived at the bar, Dean had gone off on his own, and Castiel hadn't seen him since.

Sam's reaction had made Castiel think that this was a typical occurrence, and Castiel knew that he shouldn't be worried. Dean would be fine by himself, and if he didn't want to have anyone around, then Castiel shouldn't try to force his presence on him. But despite the continued orders that he gave his mind, he couldn't make himself stop scanning the bar for any sign of Dean's presence. Just to be certain that Dean wasn't suffering any adverse effects from the curse, he told himself. He was fairly certain that that was a lie.

Finally, Castiel caught a glimpse of him. He was standing by the bar, standing incredibly close to a woman in a short dress. The woman was grinning and tilting her head closer to him, so that her hair draped over his shoulder. And for all that Dean seemed uncomfortable when Castiel was in close proximity with him, he didn't seem to mind this invasion of his personal space at all.

Castiel watched them speak with each other for another few minutes, until he got a sick feeling in his stomach that forced him to look away.

Sam won the game easily, much to the obvious outrage of the men who had bet against him. Castiel watched as Sam quickly collected the money that he was owed, a little concerned, as a few of the men were glaring as if they wanted to hurt Sam. Thankfully, no punches were actually thrown, and Sam stuffed the money into his pockets and walked away, with Castiel hurrying after him.

"Do you want to wait around for a bit, or should we head back to the motel?" Sam asked, glancing back at the corner of the room that held the pool table. "Sometimes if we lay low for a bit, we can wait for some new people to come in and then hustle a second game. I wouldn't count on it, though. And anyway, we've got plenty of cash right now. I say we just call it a night."

Castiel frowned. "It doesn't appear as though Dean is ready to leave yet," he said.

Sam paused for a moment before saying, very carefully, "I think that Dean's going to find someone else to leave with."

Castiel tilted his head, studying Sam's face as if it would hold some secret that would explain his words, but found nothing. "I don't understand," he finally said.

Sam shook his head. "Let's just get going," he said. "Dean will call a taxi if he doesn't… get a ride from somewhere else."

Castiel still wasn't sure what Sam meant. He also still didn't think that they should leave Dean alone at the bar, even if Dean had abandoned them the moment that they had walked through the door.

Castiel glanced toward where Dean had been a few minutes earlier. The girl was still sitting in the same seat, slowly sipping on a yellowish drink, but Dean was no longer with her. Castiel's frown deepened, and he glanced down the length of the bar, trying to figure out where Dean could have possibly gone.

This time, it didn't take more than a moment for Castiel to find him. Dean was about ten feet away from his previous location, leaning against the bar and talking to the man who stood behind it. At a glance, Castiel would have assumed that Dean was simply ordering a drink, if it wasn't for the way that the bartender kept his eyes locked a little too intensely on Dean's face. Dean had one arm leaning casually on the bar, and the bartender slowly lowered his hand until his fingers were touching Dean's wrist.

Castiel continued watching, waiting for Dean to pull away, the same way that Dean had pulled back when the two of them had shared a similar gesture earlier that evening.

Dean didn't.

"Let's go," Sam said again, grabbing Castiel by the shoulder and giving him a tug toward the bar's exit. This time, Castiel didn't argue. He simply nodded, forcing his eyes away from Dean and instead focusing on staring straight ahead of him as he and Sam walked away.

* * *

><p>A taxi dropped Dean off at about ten o'clock the next morning. Dean had either lost or forgotten his room key, so he banged against the door until Castiel went and let him in, and then he stumbled inside, grabbing the wall for support until he could flop forward onto his bed. It was still unmade, since Sam had insisted that it would be alright for Castiel to sleep in it the previous night. Now, Castiel realized that it must have been because Sam had known that Dean would not return until after Castiel had already finished using it.<p>

Castiel slowly closed the door, but kept his eyes locked on Dean, watching as Dean grabbed the pillow and buried his face in it.

Sam had been over by the small kitchen, attempting to make the toaster they had found in the room work long enough to toast the bread that he had bought earlier that morning. Now, though, he turned and frowned over at Dean. "Are you still drunk?"

"Hungover," Dean groaned.

Castiel thought back to the first night that they had gone to a bar together. Dean had drank the same amount as Castiel – if not more – and hadn't seemed bothered in the morning. In which case, how much alcohol would Dean have to consume in order for him to be this hungover now?

"Right," Sam said, turning back to the toaster, though he casually asked over his shoulder, "So, who did you end up going home with? That woman you were flirting with, or the bartender?"

Dean pushed himself up onto one elbow, glaring at Sam that it nearly made Castiel flinch, even though he wasn't the one that Dean was directing his anger towards. "Shut up," he snapped.

"I was just asking," Sam said defensively. "Normally you never shut up about these kinds of things."

Dean grumbled under his breath, then added, "And normally you don't care who I have sex with. Keep acting so curious and I might actually start sharing some of my stories, Sammy."

"Oh, god no," Sam said, making a disgusted face and turning away. "Keep those things to yourself, you kinky bitch."

"Jerk," Dean grumbled, but without any heat.

Castiel was still standing by the door, and now, he felt almost as if he were rooted in place.

So that was where Dean had been the previous night. Somehow, that had never even occurred to Castiel, though now he realized that it was the obvious explanation. And really, Castiel wasn't sure why he even cared, or why it should matter to him if Dean wanted to have sex with someone. But it did.

"Ugh, I'm never doing that again," Dean said, flopping back down onto the pillow.

Castiel cleared his throat, then asked, "So the sex wasn't... enjoyable, then?"

Dean shook his head slightly, then winced. "No, that part was awesome," he said. "I'm talking about getting completely smashed. I mean, that part was awesome, too, but the hangover sucks."

"Oh," Castiel said, then quickly hurried over toward the couch, sitting down and reaching for the TV remote so that he could begin flipping through random channels. He didn't know why it was so important that he suddenly appear busy, but it was.

"Can you turn that down?" Dean complained. Castiel lowered the volume slightly, but continued looking through the channels, even though there was nothing in particular that he wanted to watch. After a moment, he heard Dean groan again and get to his feet, then stagger off toward the bathroom. He didn't turn to look, though. He very determinedly kept his eyes locked on the screen as he reminded himself yet again about how this absolutely did not matter. He and Dean had only known each other for about a week, and this was apparently something that he did quite frequently. That should not bother Castiel.

"Sorry," Sam suddenly said, somewhat awkwardly.

Castiel frowned and looked over at him. "For what?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing," he said, which only confused Castiel further. "It's just, I'll go talk to him, okay?"

"Alright," Castiel said, because Sam was Dean's brother, so of course they should be able to talk to each other if they wished, and Castiel wasn't sure why Sam felt the need to inform Castiel of this.

Sam nodded, then turned and knocked on the bathroom door. There was a muffled, "What do you want?" from Dean, then Sam asked if he could come in. Dean didn't respond, so Sam opened the door and slipped inside.

Castiel kept staring at the screen. He had found a nature program that seemed interesting – or, at least, more interesting that the various poorly written shows that Dean insisted on watching.

Castiel couldn't hear what Dean and Sam were saying to each other, but he did hear it when Dean practically shouted something at Sam, and though the words were too muffled to fully make out, there was no way that Castiel could miss the anger in Dean's voice. A second later, Dean came storming out of the bathroom and practically threw himself back onto the bed.

Castiel glanced at Sam, hoping for an explanation. Sam just shrugged. "I tried," he mouthed, then turned back to finish preparing breakfast.

* * *

><p>Dean slept for most of the morning and the very beginning of the afternoon. Even after he woke up, he kept lying in bed, not saying anything to anyone. Castiel couldn't tell if he was still hungover, or if there was something else bothering him. Either way, talking to him didn't seem like a good idea. Sam seemed to feel the same, because he sat down with his laptop the moment that they finished eating breakfast and didn't move for the next three hours, meaning that the day passed in almost complete silence.<p>

Castiel didn't mind, though. In fact, he was grateful for it, because that afternoon, the angels came back.

They had never technically left, but Castiel had grown used to them existing in the back of his mind, where he was aware of their presence but couldn't actually hear the individual words. Around one o'clock, though, the voices began to swell, and Castiel very clearly heard the words "Dean Winchester".

Castiel frowned, then reached over and turned off the TV, eliminating the only noise that the room had seen in the past few hours. He then curled up in the corner of the couch and closed his eyes, allowing the voices to wash over him.

They still were not terribly clear, but Castiel could definitely catch words and phrases.

_John Winchester was still looking_, one said.

_Not ready_, another replied. Then came words that Castiel couldn't understand, but he made out the phrase _Forty-one left now, can't allow him to..._

Couldn't allow him to do what? Castiel didn't know, though he hoped that the angels would eventually repeat that part, hopefully a little clearer this time.

But no, they didn't. Time drifted away, and Castiel heard the words _Dean Winchester _and _forty-one left_ reverberating through his mind more times than he could count, but beyond that, he learned nothing new.

Still, that was something, at least. Now, all that was left was to figure out what exactly was going to happen when forty-one had passed.

Then he heard it-

_Forty-one days until Dean Winchester-_

"Seriously, Ash, you're telling me that you still have nothing?"

Castiel's eyes flew open, and he spun around in his seat. Dean was on his cell phone, pacing back and forth behind the couch, practically growling with frustration. Castiel felt the same way. He had been so close to hearing what was going to happen to Dean in forty-one days. If Dean had just waited another moment before he spoke-

There was a second's pause, and then Dean snapped, "Yeah, but this is important. Really, really important. Isn't there a way to speed it up or something?"

Another pause, and then Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly with the heel of one hand. "Sorry, Dr. Badass," he said, saying the name with obvious embarrassment. "Just, let me know as soon as you have anything. And I mean anything, alright?"

Dean hung up his phone and tossed it onto his bed.

"You know, he's got to search the entire country for demonic omens," Sam said lightly. He wasn't at the table any longer. Instead, he was stretched out across his bed, though he still had his laptop on his lap. "It's not something he can do overnight."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said. "But it's been three weeks. You'd think that he'd have something by now."

Sam shrugged. "Give it time."

"We don't have time," Dean snapped.

Sam shook his head, and sat up straighter, his face suddenly going serious as he looked Dean in the eye. "We're going to get this thing, okay?" he said. "But there's no reason to rush into it. In fact, we'll do better if we don't rush. Let's just slow down, figure out what exactly we're up to it."

Dean snorted. "That wasn't what you saying last month," he snapped, anger showing in his voice for the first time. "You were all gung ho about making this into some suicide mission so that you could just kill the damn thing, and now you're saying we should slow down? What happened to wanting to avenge Mom and Jess?"

Castiel could practically feel the silence that followed. Sam was sitting completely still on the bed, but Castiel could see something in his eyes, and instantly knew that Dean had said the wrong thing.

"I do," Sam said, and his voice was much calmer than Castiel had expected, but he could still hear the heat hidden just under the surface. "But the last time we tried to rush into this, it led to the doctors saying that we should turn off the machines that were keeping you alive, because they weren't going to do any good. I don't think you get how bad it was, Dean. So excuse me if I'm not in a hurry to jump back into the same fight that nearly got my brother killed."

Dean was silent for a moment. Then, "Sorry," he said, turning away and walking back to flop onto his bed again.

"It's fine," Sam said shortly, in a voice that made it clear that it wasn't fine, but that they weren't going to say anything else about it. He glanced over, and seemed to notice Castiel staring at him for the first time. Instantly, he stiffened, and said in a falsely-happy voice, "Hey, Jimmy. Have a good nap?"

"Nap," Castiel repeated, blinking slowly. "I was not-"

That was when he noticed the time. It was nearly five o'clock, three hours since Castiel had first begun listening to the angels. And in all that time, he was fairly certain that he hadn't opened his eyes or even moved at all, which would explain why his legs were so stiff. No wonder Sam had thought that he was asleep.

Castiel began to explain that he had not been sleeping, then stopped.

Dean did not believe that the angels existed. Castiel had never told either of them that he heard voices. And even though he had been accepted as a member of the Winchester's team for the time being, his place here was still too tenacious for him to risk doing anything that would make them choose to send him away.

"I had not realized that I had fallen asleep," he said instead, slowly.

Sam just grinned, though it still looked forced. "Yeah, not surprised," he said. "We've kind of had a boring day."

Castiel nodded, then glanced over at Dean, who was currently dragging his duffel bag onto the bed and rooting through it. "Are you alright?" Castiel asked after a moment, not sure if he was directing the question at Dean or Sam.

Regardless of how the question had been intended, Sam was the one who answered. "Yeah, it's fine," he said. "Dean's just being an impatient little bitch today."

"Right," Castiel said with a nod, wondering if he should ask anything more, but not quite sure if his inquiries would be welcome or not. He finally settled on saying nothing at all, and instead returned to leaning back against the couch arm and once again closed his eyes, hoping that he would be able to hear what the angels had been about to say about Dean Winchester.

The voices were silent, though. Not just quiet, the way that they normally were, but utterly silent.

That was odd. Castiel couldn't remember a single time when they had been like this before. They were always at least murmuring in the back of his mind, no matter what he did, even when he tried to ignore them. To have a sudden silence fall, and for it to happen when he was actively trying to hear it... It was disconcerting.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked, and Castiel opened his eyes again to see Sam watching him with concern.

"I- No," Castiel said quickly. "No, it's nothing."

Sam still looked at him like he didn't quite believe it, but after a moment, he nodded and returned to his laptop, leaving Castiel alone to ponder what the silence could mean.

"We have to do the friggin' laundry," Dean suddenly groused. During the past couple minutes, he had apparently managed to remove every single piece of clothing from his duffel, and was scowling down at it all in disgust.

"We just did it, like, a week ago," Sam said. "We stopped at that Laundromat right after we dealt with Gordon, didn't we? Right before we fought those Vetalas and met Jimmy?"

"Yeah, well, I need to go again," Dean said. "With Jimmy around, we're using up my clothes twice as fast."

Castiel shrank back slightly in his seat. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not mean to dirty your clothes so quickly."

Dean glanced over at him, and immediately shook his head. "No, it's cool," he said, and he no longer sounded nearly as angry as he had before. After a second, he added, slowly, "You know, we should probably think about getting you some clothes of your own, so that you don't have to keep using mine all the time."

Castiel instantly shook his head. "That's alright," he said. "I don't wish to impose, or force you to spend more money."

The corner of Dean's mouth turned up into a slight grin, and Castiel was instantly relieved to see it, taking it as a sign that the bad mood that had gripped Dean all day was beginning to disperse. "Nah, it's fine," he said. "We'll use the credit card, so it's not as though it's my money."

That... didn't make any sense at all, but slowly, Castiel nodded. "Alright, then. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Dean said. He grabbed a random pair of clothing – Castiel was fairly sure that it was the outfit that he had been wearing earlier this week – and sniffed them. Apparently they were up to par, because Dean nodded and headed toward the bathroom to change. He emerged a moment later, and threw his old clothes – the ones that he had worn at the bar the night before – onto the bed with the rest.

"You know, it's about dinner time," Sam said, making Castiel's stomach growl, as he suddenly realized that he had not eaten luck. Sam glanced over at Dean. "If we went out and found a restaurant, do you think you can make it through the whole dinner without killing one of us?"

"Oh, har dee har har," Dean muttered under his breath, then added, louder, "Don't worry, princess, I won't offend your precious sensibilities with my bad manners. Sorry for being such a bitch."

Dean spoke the apology almost as a complaint, as if he were upset by the very fact that he was even required to say it, but Sam grinned. "It's fine. You're always a bitch, I've gotten used to it."

Dean held up his middle finger, then shoved Sam in the arm, but both brothers were grinning now. Castiel joined in, more from relief than anything else. He preferred the happy Winchesters in front of him over the dark mood that had fallen over the motel all day.

Even so, there was one thing that prevented him from truly joining in with the happy mood. Even as they went out to climb into the car – Dean and Sam fighting in increasingly-loud voices over whether they should get burgers or sushi for dinner – Castiel's mind was on the angels, and where they possibly could have disappeared to.

* * *

><p>Apparently Dean had been serious about buying Castiel his own clothes.<p>

Sam refused to come with them. In fact, he had laughed when Castiel had suggested it the next morning. "You really think I want to spend my day off clothes shopping with you two?" he had asked, and snorted. "You, you guys go ahead. I figured I'd take advantage of having the motel room to myself while I've got the chance."

"Too much information, brother," Dean had said with a grin, and Sam had rolled his eyes and responded, "Of course that would be the first thing that you think of." And Castiel hadn't understood anything, as was normal. Then Sam had winked at the two of them and said, "Besides, I think that you two should have some time alone." That had caused Dean to cuss Sam out and storm off to the car, and Sam had laughed hard enough that Castiel had found himself joining in, even though he didn't know what exactly he was laughing at.

They ended up at a giant department store, because Dean announced that he "was never going to shop at one of those prissy malls, and nothing you say can change my mind." Castiel hadn't argued, of course. And anyway, he had to say that he liked the warehouse that they found themselves in, with its rows of clothing items and its almost-mazelike atmosphere. Not that Castiel had any other experiences to compare this to, as he had never gone clothes shopping before, but still, this store seemed to be conveniently arranged, and made it easy for him to find what he was looking for.

"What about this?" Dean asked, and tossed him a dark gray plaid shirt. "Check the label and tell me if that's your size?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel said. He looked at the label on the inside of the collar, just as Dean had instructed, but he didn't understand any of the words that he saw there. "What is my size?"

Dean gave him an odd look, but all he said was, "My clothes fit you, right? In that case, then that shirt's your size."

"Alright," Castiel said, and dropped it into the shopping cart that he and Dean were pushing around. "You are certain that the cost won't be too much?"

Dean grinned. "I told you, it's not my money, so if I were you, I'd go for the expensive stuff. Might as well, right? Just don't buy too much that you can't fit it all in a duffel bag, we like to try to travel light." He frowned suddenly. "Shit, we're gonna need to get you a duffel, too. And we probably want to stop somewhere fancier than this and get you a suit, if you're going to be walking around crime scenes pretending to be FBI. I'll take one of Sam's badges and stick your picture in it," Dean added, almost as an afterthought.

"Alright," Castiel said. Dean had been going a bit too fast for him, and he was a bit lost, but there was one thing that he caught from Dean's words. "Does this mean that I am going to be traveling with you for a while."

Dean looked at him sharply, then immediately turned away. He grabbed another plaid shirt off the rack in front of him and tossed it into the shopping cart before answering. "Who knows? But, I mean, you're going to need this stuff anyway if you're planning on sticking with hunting for long, and it doesn't hurt me at all to buy it for you."

"Right," Castiel agreed. It wasn't quite the answer that he had hoped for, but at least Dean hadn't outright stated that he planned on making Castiel leave soon, so he would take what he could get, at least.

For a minute or so, neither of them said anything, just flipped through the rows of clothes and produced anything that looked alright. Then Castiel thought back to the number that the angels had given him the day before, and asked, "Do you have any plans for where you'll be forty days from now?"

Dean had been reaching for another shirt, but now he stopped, and turned to look at Castiel, his eyes narrowing. "Why?"

Castiel frowned, unsure why Dean no longer looked happy, even though he had been a minute ago. "Should I not have asked that question?"

Dean shrugged. "Just oddly specific, is all," he said, though his voice was tight. "Forty days? Forty days exactly, instead of asking about what's going to happen next month or in two months or something like that? What makes you ask that, anyway?"

"Just a random question," Castiel said. "We had been speaking about the possibility of me staying with you for a while, and I had thought that I would ask about your future."

Dean relaxed, just slightly. "Do you have plans for forty days from now, or something? Is that why you're asking?"

"No," Castiel said truthfully. Then he lied and added, "It is just a random number."

Dean grinned, looking amused now. "Huh. Well, anyway, nope, I can't say that I've got anything in mind for that far in the future," he said lightly. "Hunters don't really get to plan things in advance much. Hell, I don't even know which state I'll be in tomorrow, let alone on the first of July."

"That makes sense," Castiel said. So Dean would not be able to help him with uncovering the angels' meaning. And Castiel couldn't think of any other way to discover it on his own, either. He supposed that he would just have to wait and hope that the angels mentioned it again.

Of course, for that to happen, first the angels' voices would have to return. They had briefly reappeared the day before, but Castiel had not heard from them since. More than just being disconcerting, he was seriously worried about what was causing them to come and go like this, and what their disappearances could mean.

It was at that moment that Castiel realized that Dean had known off the top of his head that the first of July was the date that came exactly forty days from now, without seeming to have to think of it. He frowned. He had checked Sam's calendar the night before, so he was sure that Dean was right. But it was strange that Dean knew.

"Now it's your turn to tell me something," Dean said, before Castiel was able to bring it up. "Who are Hester and Balthazar?"

Castiel frowned, feeling confused enough to forget what he had been thinking about a moment earlier. "Who?" he asked.

"The names that you gave that witch yesterday while you were stalling for time," Dean said, and yes, Castiel remembered that now. "They really your siblings?"

Yes.

That was the first answer that came to his mind, and his first instinct was to give Dean that answer. But then, as soon as Castiel began to wonder where the answer had come from, he found that he was no longer certain that it was the truth. If he were being honest, he would admit that he truly had no idea how his mind had produced those names.

He knew that he had siblings. Or, at least, he still had the strong sense that he had a family out there, somewhere, even if he didn't have a clue who or where they were. But then, if there was no proof, then how was he supposed to know that it was the truth? It could be wishful thinking, or his mind playing tricks. In fact, practically everything that he believed that he knew could actually have been made up in his head, and there would be no way for him to know for sure. The thought was terrifying, if he allowed himself to dwell on it.

"Jimmy?" Dean prompted.

"No," Castiel said. "I know nobody with those names."

Dean nodded, not even question that. It made Castiel frown, as he was momentarily struck with guilt over the lie. The guilt immediately turned to confusion, though, as he remembered that he wasn't sure if it was truly a lie, and so there may not actually be a reason for him to feel this guilt. All that did was confuse him further, and he resolved to not think of it any more. Not at the moment, at least.

"You okay?" Dean asked, taking a step toward him, concern written on his face.

"Yes," Castiel said quickly. Dean looked ready to say something more, but Castiel cut him off. "I think that I want to get button up shirts, such as the one I borrowed from you yesterday. I like them more than I like the plaid."

"Okay," Dean agreed, grabbing the cart and pushing it toward another part of the store, where shirts such as the ones that Castiel wanted were on display. "And it's okay, dude, I get the hint. You don't want to talk about your family."

"I would prefer not to," Castiel said. "It is a bit complicated, to be honest. I'm not sure what I should say."

"You can't be that close, if they left you to live on the street," Dean said, his voice casual, not even looking at Castiel as he spoke. Instead, he started looking through the shirts until he found one in Castiel's size, then held it up.

Castiel nodded his assent, and Dean dropped the shirt into the cart. And Castiel was fairly certain that if he didn't say anything more, then Dean would be content to let the subject drop. So there really was no explanation for why Castiel found himself saying, "And no, I don't think we are. Close, I mean."

"You don't think?" Dean asked. "I don't know, isn't that the kind of thing that you should know for sure?"

Castiel shrugged. "Complicated," he said.

Dean just nodded, and this time, Castiel said nothing more, allowing the two of them to drift into silence as they moved through the aisles.

It was a few minutes later when Dean announced that he was going to go to the bathroom quickly. He left Castiel with the cart, and told him to continue shopping without him. Castiel did so for a minute or two, until he looked over his shoulder and was certain that Dean was gone. Then he removed his wallet from his pocket and flipped it open.

He still carried the photo of the young girl in his wallet. There was no particular reason for him to have it, but also no real reason to throw it away, and so he never had. Still, though, it had been a long time since he had looked at it. He had barely even remembered that it existed after he'd left the men's shelter, and wouldn't have thought of it now if Dean hadn't brought up the idea of him having family.

Now, he stared down at her face, the blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and blue eyes staring straight at him, and tried to remember. She was too young to be one of the sisters that he was sure that he had, but then, he couldn't imagine any other way that she could be related to him. Maybe one of his siblings had had a daughter that he had been close to. Assuming that he was right about these supposed siblings even existing.

"Hester," he said aloud, quiet enough that none of the shoppers in the nearby aisles would be able to hear him. "Balthazar." They were the only two names that he could think of, and he tried his best to associate them with this girl's face, but he could tell at once that they didn't fit. It was clear that the mystery of this girl was not going to be solved any time soon, and he could think of no way to figure it out. He supposed that the best that he could do was to continue with his life, and hope that someday the memories would return.

Dean exited the bathroom then. Castiel saw him from across the store, already beginning to return to Castiel's side. Castiel quickly tucked the wallet back into his pocket – there was no way that he could explain the girl's photograph to Dean, not without revealing more things that he didn't plan to say.

It was still going to bother him somewhat, he knew. And he did hope that someday he would learn the truth. But until then, there were other things to worry about besides his missing memories, and other things that he preferred to focus his attention on. For now, he just turned his attention to choosing another shirt from the nearest rack, and did his best to push the matter from his mind completely.

* * *

><p>"Dean!" Castiel said, his eyes widening. Dean did not seem to hear him, so Castiel repeated the name, this time with more urgency. "Dean!"<p>

"What?" Dean asked, looking up from where he stood about two aisles over, flipping through the rack of raincoats. "What, you see something that you like?"

Castiel nodded enthusiastically. "Look at this coat," he said, lifting the trench coat off the rack and holding it up so that Dean would be able to see it. "It has several hidden pockets that can be used to conceal weapons, and it will be useful to have in colder climates. And it looks very nice." He considered that to be an understatement. It was by far the best-looking garment that he had seen since entering the store.

"Well, get it, then," Dean said, and Castiel was about to drop it into the cart, but Dean added, "You might want to try it on first, to make sure that it's the size that you want."

"Excellent idea," Castiel said, and pulled the jacket on immediately, then spun around to look for a mirror. There was one just a couple aisles over, and Castiel hurried toward it, eager to see what the coat looked like while he was wearing it.

The coat fit him better than expected. Castiel turned slowly, studying his reflection in the mirror, but he could see no flaws in the coat's design, nor any signs that he would be better off choosing a different size. In fact, it seemed almost as though the coat had been made for him.

Dean's reflection joined him in the mirror as Dean walked up behind him. "Seriously?" Dean asked, then snorted. "Should've figured that you would go for something as weird as this."

Castiel frowned. "What is wrong with it?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "Not something that you see people wearing every day," he said, then added, "but if you like it, hey, go for it."

Castiel studied his reflection for another minute more, just to be absolutely certain, then nodded. "I like it," he decided.

"Get it, then," Dean said, then turned and walked off. "Go see if there's anything else that you need. I'm gonna see if this place sells any bags that you can use."

"Sounds good," Castiel agreed, and Dean left. Even so, Castiel took another moment to stare at himself in the mirror before slowly removing the coat and turning away.

He had never particularly cared about his appearance before. In fact, there were times when he almost felt as though his body were somehow separate from him, and how it looked did not affect him in the slightest. Now, though, he realized that he enjoyed the way that he looked when he was wearing that coat.

It was a good feeling.

* * *

><p>The bag that Dean picked out for him was a bright, fluorescent pink. Dean looked like he could barely contain his laughter as he held it out to Castiel while they were in the checkout line. Castiel wasn't sure why; it was a rather nice color, and a nice change of pace from the drab shades that the Winchesters preferred.<p>

So Castiel just smiled and said, "Thank you," then passed it to the cashier to be scanned along with the rest of his items. Dean looked strangely disappointed.

There were several bags of items, but Dean assured him that they would all be able to fit in his duffle. "You just have to pack it right, dude," he promised as they loaded the bags into the backseat of the Impala. "I'll show you how to make it all fit."

Castiel believed him. Dean was the expert, after all.

It wasn't until they were on their way back to the motel room that Castiel dared to ask the question that had been weighing on his mind since the day before. "Dean," he said slowly, his voice breaking the silence that had fallen over the car. Dean made a noise to indicate that he had heard, and glanced over at Castiel, so he took that as a sign that he should continue.

"You nearly died," Castiel said softly.

Dean waved him off. "Oh, come on, the curse wasn't nearly that bad," he said. "And Sam got the bastard before he hurt me too badly."

"No, that wasn't what I meant," Castiel said, making Dean look back over to him. "Sam said that they were preparing to turn off the machines that kept you alive."

"Oh," Dean said. His hands tightened around the wheel. "You heard that?"

Castiel didn't think that that required an answer. Instead, he asked, "Was it truly that bad, or was Sam exaggerating?"

Dean shrugged, looking casual enough that for a moment, Castiel was certain that he was going to say that Sam really had been exaggerating. Then Dean spoke, and his voice was most definitely not casual, even if he was trying to make it come across that way. "It was that bad." He shrugged again, more of a nervous gesture than anything else. "Apparently my heart stopped once, and they said that I'd be brain dead, even if I did manage to wake up somehow. Plus, all the other injuries meant that I'd never hunt again, so that would've sucked."

Castiel stared at him. Dean was looking straight ahead, his eyes locked on the road – which, Castiel had already learned, was not his typical way of driving. Dean typically spent more time looking at the passengers than at the road in front of him, as if he were just asking to get into an accident. Now, though, Dean didn't seem inclined to even glance his way.

"How?" Castiel finally asked. "I had heard that you were in the hospital, but I assumed it was not so serious... How?"

"Don't know," Dean said. Another shrug. "Guess I've got an angel watching over me."

Castiel frowned, thinking of the angels. He had heard nothing that made him think that any of them had been the one to heal Dean. But then, they had never mentioned Dean's injuries before, so perhaps they just hadn't had a reason to bring it up. Still, though, Castiel didn't think that the angels were likely to interfere with the lives of any humans, not even those of Sam and Dean Winchester. At least, they had never seemed inclined to do so before. But more than that- "I thought that you didn't believe in angels?"

"I don't," Dean said. Finally, he glanced over at Castiel. "It's an expression. It means that I got lucky, or something."

"You think it was luck?" Castiel asked slowly. He didn't have a very well developed knowledge of the way that the human body responded to injuries, he would admit that, but he was fairly certain that luck wasn't enough to bring someone back from certain death.

Dean snorted. "That's as good an explanation as any," he said. "I don't know, Jimmy. Something happened to me, and I don't know what, and I don't know why. I mean, I'm grateful for it, obviously. But still, it's weird."

Castiel nodded in agreement. Dean's shoulders were hunched as if the conversation was making him uncomfortable, so Castiel decided not to say anything more.

Instead, he asked the other question that had been bothering him, admittedly with much less urgency than the first. "Where exactly did you go after we left you at the bar?"

Judging by the look that immediately crossed Dean's face, he was not any more comfortable with this line of conversation than he had been with the pervious one. "Don't think you want to know the details of that, buddy," he said.

Nevertheless, Castiel decided to persist. "When you had said that you wanted to celebrate killing the witch, I had assumed that we would be celebrating together."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, and didn't say anything for a moment, until he finally added, "Sometimes I wanna do my own thing, you know?"

"But you were with someone," Castiel pointed out. That did not make it seem as if Dean had been on his own.

Dean shrugged, acknowledging that. And when he spoke, it sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. "Fine. Then I was doing my own thing with people who aren't you or Sam. Just... changing it up a bit. You understand."

No. "Yes." He didn't actually understand at all, but he suddenly lacked the desire to keep pressing for further information.

"Awesome," Dean said, then reached forward and turned on the radio.


	11. Part 1, Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

"Hey Jimmy," Sam said, dropping down onto the couch beside him a couple days later. Castiel looked up, and Sam held out a thin piece of plastic toward him. "This is for you."

Castiel immediately recognized it as a driver's license. His driver's license, he realized. Or, at least, Sam must have created it for him, because the picture on the front was one that Sam had taken of him a few days earlier. Castiel had wondered why Sam had insisted that he look directly at the camera, and why he had spent so much time on his computer, editing the background into one solid color. Now, it made more sense.

"I already have identification, though," he said, and reached for his wallet to show that it was true. He had both the James Novak ID, and several other fake badges that the Winchesters had already given him.

Sam was already shaking his head, though. "I know," he said, and continued to hold the license out toward Castiel, who finally took it. "This one is for emergencies only."

"Why?" Castiel asked, glancing down at it. The name on the license was James Mercury, which he immediately noticed was odd. Most of their fake names didn't involve any part of their real ones.

"Lot's of hospitals only let family in to see each other, especially if you end up in the ICU, which has happened a couple times." Sam grimaced – whatever an ICU was, it clearly did not hold good memories for Sam – then pulled out his own wallet and producing an ID from one of the back slots. He held it out, showing that the name on this one was Samuel Mercury. "That means that we need some IDs that actually say that we're brothers. I figured that if you're going to stick around for a bit, then you'll need one, too. I mean, I hope that we won't have to use them, but better safe than sorry, right?" He paused, then added, "I also made some changes to the insurance stuff, so you'll be covered if you ever end up injured. Or, you'll be covered until they figured out that all of our paperwork is nothing but forgeries, but hopefully that wouldn't be until after you got out."

Castiel stared down at the ID, seeing it in a whole new light now. He wasn't even sure what he should say about it, or how to express the feelings that were swirling through his chest. Instead of trying, he somehow found himself asking, "Why is it my real name? Or, real first name, at least."

He wasn't sure why that was the question that came out of his mouth first, especially when there was so much more that he could say to Sam, and this answer didn't particularly matter. Sam just shrugged. "It's easy to mess up, especially when somebody's hurt and you're already stressed out about it," he said. "This just makes it easier. I mean, if Dean gets hurt and someone overhears me screaming his name, the staff are going to start getting suspicious if his ID calls him something else, don't you think?"

Castiel nodded slowly. Judged by the look on Sam's face, Castiel was reasonably certain that this was a lesson that the brothers had learned the hard way.

Sam shrugged, and his face quickly cleared. "Anyway, it's just easier this way," he added. His tone was casual. He had no idea how much this meant.

Castiel swallowed hard. "Thank you," he said. "Really, Sam, I can't thank you enough. This is-" He didn't know how to finish that sentence, so he just shook his head.

Sam blinked, looking a little surprised. "It's just an ID," he said.

No, it was far more than that. It was a definite sign that Sam and Dean were thinking of him, and that they intended for him to stay with them for long enough that having this ID would prove worthwhile. And to Castiel, that meant more than he knew how to express.

"And anyway," Sam continued, "like I said, let's hope none of us ever need it. But keep it with you just in case, okay?"

"I will," Castiel promised, and slipped it into one of the back slots of the wallet, where it wasn't immediately noticeable, but where he would be able to remove it easily if necessary.

The Winchesters wanted him to visit them in the hospital, and they wanted to be able to visit him as well. Castiel had never known that a piece of plastic could make him feel so grateful.

* * *

><p>Another five days passed without Sam finding any new cases for them to take. Sam said that it was good to have a break, and privately, Castiel agreed. He didn't say it out loud, though, because after the first couple days, Dean began to grow antsy from staying in the same motel room for so long, not to mention the fact that he didn't get to kill anything in all that time, which was apparently unusual for him.<p>

Mostly, Castiel did his best to keep to himself, not wanting to bother Dean and Sam, in case he should accidentally annoy them into deciding that he should leave. He knew that it was unlikely, and he still had the ID that Sam had made to remind him that the Winchesters wanted him around. Still, though, he wanted to be sure.

Dean was keeping his distance, though. Castiel would sit beside him on the couch, and Dean would quickly scoot over, making room for Sam to sit between the two of them. Once, Sam quickly say down on Dean's other side a moment after Castiel had taken his seat, preventing Dean from being able to scoot away. Dean had shot Sam a dirty look, then gotten up and moved to the table. Castiel tried not to let it bother him.

Now, he was stretched out on the couch by himself, as Sam and Dean were both seated at the table. Sam had his ubiquitous laptop in front of him, while Dean was reading through the leather journal that had also become a constant fixture in their motel room over the past few days. It seemed like every time Dean had even a second of free time, he had taken to reading through it, even though he must have finished the entire thing at least three times in the past week alone.

"Still reading about the demon stuff?" Sam asked, reaching across the table to poke the leather journal.

"Shut up," Dean grumbled, pulling it back out of Sam's reach.

"Dean, you're not going to find anything new about the demon in there," Sam insisted, and scratched his neck. His stiches had been removed several days ago, leaving only scar tissue that they hoped would fade with time. "Seriously, if Dad knew some way to find Azazel, he would've done it already, not written it down and forgotten about it."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, and didn't look up from the page that he was reading. "Gotta keep trying, don't I?"

"You're bordering on obsessive territory here, man," Sam said. "Don't you think you should take a break and, I don't know, go watch those crappy TV shows that you like so much?"

"Shut up," Dean snapped a second time. "First of all, Dr. Sexy is an art form, you're just too brain dead to appreciate it." Sam snorted at that, which Dean ignored. "And second, I'll take a break once I find something useful. Until then, I'm gonna keep working." He turned the page in the journal, and muttered, "A whole fucking month and Ash still has shit."

"Is that what the journal is?" Castiel asked, causing both brothers to turn to him. "It belonged to your father?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice instantly going stiff and uncomfortable. Castiel now recognized it as the special voice that Dean had reserved for any time a conversation came too close to becoming emotional. "He wrote down everything that he knew in here."

"Well, almost everything," Sam said. That made Dean look up at him for the first time, and Sam added, "He never mentioned that he knew that the demon was named Azazel."

Dean just frowned, and immediately returned his attention to the journal.

"And Azazel is the demon who killed your mom and Jessica?" Castiel asked slowly, deciding that one more question would be okay, though he was prepared to drop the subject at the first sign that they wanted him to.

Sam, however, answered. "Yeah. Yeah, he was," he said, in a low voice. "And trust me, I want him dead as bad as Dean does, but he's not going to learn anything more from reading that book."

"I can try," Dean said. "Besides, what exactly are you doing on your laptop, anyway? I bet anything you're doing more research."

Sam grabbed the side of the his laptop screen, like he was preparing to close it. Then he just said, "Well, yeah," and let his hands drop.

Huh. That was interesting.

"But the thing is, I'm looking up new information every time that I look," Sam added. "I'm not just reading the same words over and over again, like you are."

"And have you found anything?" Dean challenged.

Sam glanced at his screen. Dean couldn't see it, but Castiel could, and he watched as Sam quickly exited out of his current window, then pulled out another story. "Get this," he said. "There've been two suspicious deaths about a day's drive from here. Apparently, two men both showed up at the police station yesterday, about an hour apart. Both of them individually confessed that they'd murdered a girl together about ten years ago, and acted like they were going to turn themselves in. But when the police tried to make an arrest, both of them got away. Then this morning, their bodies showed up in the river. Stabbed to death."

"Huh," Dean said, and tapped one finger against his chin, considering that. "So, vengeful spirit type deal? She comes back to get revenge on her murderers, they confess in the hopes that it'll be enough to stop them, and it doesn't work out for them?"

"Don't know," Sam said. "But it sounds like our thing, doesn't it?"

"Don't know," Dean replied, echoing Sam's words. "Honestly, it sounds like those two deserved what was coming to them if they'd gotten away with murder."

"I can't help but agree," Castiel said slowly, then added, "But there is always the risk that the deaths will not stop now that the murderers are dead. As long as there is something supernatural happening, I believe that we should investigate."

Dean shrugged. "Guy's got a point," he said, then got to his feet, closing the journal and tucking it under his arm. "Okay, you've convinced me. Let's go hunt this thing."

* * *

><p>They arrived in a little town called Ceredo at around noon the next day. Once there, they discovered that Castiel had been right about the deaths not stopping, because right as they were crossing the town line, Sam received a news alert telling him that a young woman had just been found stabbed to death in her apartment.<p>

They were once again in their FBI costumes, though this time they all held badges proclaiming them to be Agents Kilmister, Campbell, and Dee. Castiel wasn't quite sure why they didn't simply reuse the badges that they had used during the witch hunt, but Dean apparently took great joy in choosing various aliases for them to use, and had literally dozens of badges in the back of the Impala that he had created simply because they amused him.

Castiel was dressed in his trench coat, because he and Dean had never actually bothered to buy him a suit to wear. That was alright. Castiel was reasonably certain that the trench coat was official enough that he could pass as an agent, and he vastly preferred it over the uncomfortable-looking suits that Sam and Dean had to wear. He had been wearing the trench coat every day since Dean had bought it for him – despite the fact that it made Dean roll his eyes and shake his head – and it was still by far the most comfortable article of clothing that he owned.

"The body is this way," the police officer said, beckoning them over to the apartment's bedroom. "Just found her a couple of hours ago. Damn shame."

The woman – Gretchen Strauss, that was what Sam had said that her name was – was lying across her bed, her eyes wide with shock and pain, clutching at the stab wound in the center of her chest. Though the one in her chest appeared to be the cause of death, her entire body was covered in shallow cuts, as though she had been tortured before her death. Castiel grimaced, then looked away, choosing to turn his attention to the room around him, to see if there were any signs of some supernatural occurrence. Aside from the corpse, though, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

"This may sound like an odd question," Sam began, "but did the victim happen to confess to any crimes recently? Maybe a cold case, or something similar?"

The officer glanced at him in surprise. "Yeah, actually," she said. "Apparently she's been stealing from her company for years now – must've taken over a hundred thousand in the past year alone, stuck it all in some oversees account. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," Sam said.

"And, who was the last person to see the victim before her death?" Dean asked.

The officer shrugged. "Her neighbor, as far as we can tell. She saw Gretchen here leave her house last night, so odds are Gretchen met up with someone else, but we don't know who it was."

"Which neighbor?" Dean asked.

"The one to the left," the officer answered, and Dean nodded, then turned and headed out the door, presumably to go speak with the neighbor.

"So, did you know Gretchen well?" Sam asked.

The officer snorted. "Guess you could say that," she said. "She's been in and out of the station for years now. I've seen her charged with everything from mail fraud to credit card scams, but we've never been able to get anything to stick." She paused, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "That's what made it so weird when she decided to confess a few days back. We'd never even suspected the money laundering. Of course, I guess she changed her mind about doing the right thing, because she later swore up and down that she had never confessed, even though we caught it all on video."

"Did she seem... strange, when she came in to confess?" Sam asked.

"Besides the fact that she was confessing?" the officer asked.

Castiel cut in, "I believe that what Agent Campbell means to ask it, were there any flickering lights? Perhaps a cold draft, or did her eyes change color at all?"

"Uh, no," the officer stammered. "She seemed a lot more confident that usual, if that's the kind of thing you're going for." Then she frowned. "Wait, I thought that Agent Campbell was your name?"

Castiel frowned, and pulled his FBI badge out of his pocket to check.

"Thank you, we'll take it from here," Sam said quickly. As soon as the officer had left the room – still giving them odd looks all the way – Sam turned to look at Castiel, giving him what Dean had called his bitch face. "You're really going to make people think that we're crazy."

"She was right," Castiel said, returning the badge to his pocket. "Agent Campbell is my name. I really have to remember that."

Sam just shook his head. "Let's just take a look around."

Castiel nodded, and the two of them set to work.

* * *

><p>"EMF is going crazy," Sam said a few minutes later. He had been walking all around the room, waving his detector in every possible corner as it beeped wildly. Now he returned it to his jacket and continued to look around the room.<p>

"A vengeful spirit, then," Castiel said with a nod. Well, that had been simple to figure out, at least.

"Maybe," Sam said, and Castiel frowned. He had thought that EMF was a sure sign of a spirit's presence, but apparently that wasn't the case, because Sam added, "We should wait to see what Dean learned from the neighbor."

That did sound like the best plan. And in the meantime... "What were you researching yesterday morning?" Castiel asked. "It was clearly something that you didn't want Dean to see."

"It wasn't," Sam said quickly. He hesitated, then added, "How much do you know about Dean's stay in the hospital about a month ago?"

"Only that it happened, and that he came very near to dying," Castiel said. "And that there is no explanation for why he's alive."

"That's what I'm looking for," Sam said. "An explanation."

That made sense. Castiel had to admit, he wanted to know what had happened as well. "Why not tell Dean, then?"

"I'm not hiding it from him or anything," Sam said, and Castiel could tell that he was being honest. "It's just, he doesn't want to think about it so much. I know it freaks him out to not know what happened, and until I actually find something halfway useful, there's no sense in forcing him to think about it." Then Sam shook his head and added, "Besides, you've seen the way he's been. I doubt that there's any way to make him focus on anything except tracking down Azazel."

Yes, that was true. "It is very kind of you to not want to worry him," Castiel said.

Sam just shrugged. "It's what brothers do."

Dean returned then, and announced, "Okay, I spoke to the neighbor. So, apparently Gretchen here usually gets home from work about four o'clock, and then stays home for the rest of the evening. Dead girl's not much of a partier, I guess. But last night, our friendly neighborhood gossip saw her arrive home about seven in the evening, and then she left again fifteen minutes later. No one knows where she went then, except that at some point, she must've come home and gotten killed. So, any ideas?"

"We've got enough EMF to make a ghost a possibility," Sam said. "Other than that, it could be anything."

"So, what is our next step?" Castiel asked.

"Research," Sam said.

Dean groaned. "Boring," he announced. "We're going to let Sam handle that crap. I'm going to go get the autopsy results, maybe talk to the families of the first couple vics."

"Good idea," Sam said. "Take Jimmy with you."

"But-" Dean started to protest.

Sam silenced him with a look. "You two make a good team," he insisted. "Besides, I'll get through the research a lot faster if I don't have anyone around bothering me."

"I would not be bothersome!" Castiel insisted, but Sam shot him a look that seemed to be telling him not to argue, and so Castiel fell silent.

The officer was leaning against the doorway to enter the room, holding her phone out in front of her and typing something on the screen, but she looked up as they approached, then quickly lowered her phone and stepped out of the way. The three of them walked right past her, with neither of the Winchesters even looking in her direction, but she rushed forward regardless, sounding strangely nervous as she asked, "Do either of you have business cards? So that I know who to call if there's anything new about the case, I mean."

Instantly, Dean turned toward her with a smile. "Here you go," he said, producing one from his jacket pocket and holding it out to her, who looked almost shy as she took it. "Feel free to give me a call anytime, Officer-"

"Brunt," the officer said with a smile. "Felicity Brunt. And thank you," she added, tucking the card into her pocket.

"Don't mention it, Felicity," Dean said. "I'll look forward to your call, then."

Her smile widened, and she nodded at him before turning and heading off toward the bedroom, presumably to further investigate the corpse.

"Dude," Sam hissed as they left the house. "Can you at least refrain from flirting with someone at a crime scene?"

"You're just jealous, Sammy," Dean said with a wink.

Castiel frowned. "I'm guessing that you are going to attempt to have sexual intercourse with her?" he asked, his voice sounding awkward, even to his own ears.

Instantly, the happy grin slipped off Dean's face. "That's my business," he said gruffly, then shook his head and motioned for Castiel to follow him to the car. "Come on, buddy, let's go show you your first morgue. Try to contain your excitement, okay?"

* * *

><p>Both of the victims were in various stages of decay, and smelled absolutely awful. Castiel wrinkled his nose as he stared down at them, stretched out on the metal slabs. However, neither Dean nor the coroner seemed bothered in the slightest, and so Castiel tried not to let it show.<p>

"So you don't have a time of death?" Dean asked.

The coroner shook her head. "Not an accurate one, at least. They've been in the water too long. They were last seen five days ago, when they made those confessions. I suspect that they died somewhere around that time, maybe even the same day. But like I said, I don't know for sure."

"And is there anything unusual about the bodies?" Dean asked.

Castiel opened his mouth to provide examples. Dean immediately stepped on his foot. Castiel took that as a sign that he should not be speaking, and shut his mouth, though he did glare at Dean as he did so. Dean did not appear to notice.

"They were both stabbed straight through the chest," the coroner said, "and have about a dozen other smaller injures on top of it, like they were tortured before their deaths. Other than that, no. Just a typical murder case. Stab the vics and hide the body."

Dean nodded. "Thanks for your time," he said, and he and Castiel turned and left the morgue.

Castiel leaned closer to Dean and said in a low voice, "That was not particularly exciting."

Dean glanced over at him. "Huh?"

"Why would I need to contain my excitement if there was no excitement to be found?" Castiel asked. And Dean was about to respond, but suddenly, the answer came to him. "Sarcasm!" Castiel announced.

Dean glanced over at him, amused. "Yeah, buddy," he agreed, as he pulled Impala keys from his jacket pocket. "Sarcasm."

Castiel grinned, more than a little proud of himself, and Dean grinned back as they got into the car.

* * *

><p>"My son was a good boy, agents," Mrs. Elton insisted for the fifth time since Dean and Castiel had arrived to question her. "I don't know why people are saying that he killed that one girl. He didn't, I know that he didn't."<p>

"So you don't believe that he was the murderer, even though he confessed to the crime?" Castiel asked.

Mrs. Elton shook her head empathetically. "I know that he didn't! He was already with the angels by then, I'm sure of it."

"With the angels?" Castiel asked.

"She means that he was dead," Dean explained in a low voice, then turned back to the woman in front of them, who was now dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "What makes you think that, ma'am?"

"He was missing for days before the confession," Mrs. Elton said. "I called him and called him, but for two whole days, he didn't answer me. He wouldn't have ignored his Mama for that long, I'm sure of it! He must have been gone by then, and someone else framed him! That has to be what happened!"

Dean and Castiel exchanged a glance, and then Dean stood. "Thank you for your time," he said, as Castiel hurried to follow suit.

"Why are we leaving so soon?" Castiel asked, as soon as they were outside of the house.

Dean made a face. "I doubt we're going to get anything more useful from her," he said. "I can tell you one thing, though. Something funky definitely went down in the two days before he made his confession. Now we just gotta figure out what."

Right then, Dean's cell phone began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID, then put the phone on speaker. "Hey, Sam. Tell me that you've got something."

"Sort of," Sam said. "The police have officially confirmed that all three of our victims were actually guilty of the crimes that they confessed to committing."

"Huh," Dean said. "Okay, so who do we know that could've done this?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "Pretty much every belief system has had some sort of god of justice that we should be looking at, but none of them seem to match up… But then, we don't have a whole lot to go on yet. We can't even say for sure that it's a vengeful spirit. Did you see those power lines right outside her window?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "You think they messed with our readings?"

"Who knows?" Sam asked.

"So, basically, we got squat," Dean said, then groaned. "Great. We're going to grab something for dinner and then come join you at the motel, okay?"

"Got it," Sam said. "I'll keep looking, I guess. I'm sure that'll do a ton of good."

Dean glanced over at Castiel, his lips twitching into a smile. "Sarcasm!"

"What?" Sam asked, sounding confused, and Castiel covered his mouth to hide his laughter.

"Nothing," Dean said, and was looking fairly pleased with himself as he said goodbye to Sam and hung up the phone.

* * *

><p>Apparently Sam was wrong about the usefulness of the information that he would be able to find, because when Dean and Castiel arrived at the motel, Sam was practically bursting with excitement. "I found a connection," he announced as the two of then walked through the door.<p>

"Yeah?" Dean asked, dropping their plastic takeout boxes onto the table and looking over at Sam expectantly. "What is it?"

"Sylvia Brunt," Sam announced, as though that were supposed to hold some meaning. And Sam must have known that they wouldn't understand, because he immediately added, "That's the name of the girl who was murdered by the first two victims."

"Wait," Dean said, holding up one hand. "Brunt, as in related to the officer we were talking to earlier?"

Sam nodded. "Her younger sister," he said.

"I'm sensing a conflict of interest here," Dean said.

"What is the connection?" Castiel asked.

"Gertrude Strauss? Our third victim?" Sam said. "She had apparently been babysitting Sylvia and her twin brother Emory on the night that Sylvia was kidnapped and murdered."

"So we got a motive," Dean said. "You think this is some sort of vengeful spirit thing?"

"It's looking more like it," Sam replied. "Sylvia dies a violent death, then decides to come back a decade later to avenge herself?"

"Well, we can go find out," Dean said. "Any idea where Sylvia was buried?"

* * *

><p>They decided to wait until darkness fell before they went and dug up the body, to make it less likely that they would be spotted. Sam and Dean got changed into their normal clothes – they obviously weren't going to be digging up a grave in suits – and headed for the door. "You coming, Jimmy?" Sam asked.<p>

Castiel hesitated. He was fairly certain that he should say yes, just in case digging up the corpse turned out to be more difficult than anticipated. But then, Dean and Sam had already salted and burned countless bodies, and as long as they stayed together, Castiel didn't think that there would be any danger.

So instead, he asked, "Actually, Sam, would it be okay if I stayed here and used your laptop?"

Sam looked a little surprised, but he nodded. "Sure, no problem," he said, gesturing over to where he had left it on the motel table.

"Just don't go looking through Sam's secret porn stash," Dean added with a grin.

Sam rolled his eyes and elbowed his brother in the side. "All of that it yours, Dean," he said. "And anyway, I've already deleted it all."

"You what?" Dean asked, and as the two of them left the motel, Castiel could hear Dean demand, "Do you know how long it took me to collect all of those videos? They're, like, the best of the best!"

"That tells me way more about you than I ever wanted to know," Sam said.

Dean paused in the doorway, then turned back around. "I'm going to leave you my cell phone," he said, pulling it out of his pocket and tossing it onto the nearest bed. "Call Sam's phone if you need anything."

"Thank you," Castiel said.

Dean just shrugged. "Don't mention it," he said. "We'll be back in about three hours or so. Four at the most."

Then the door swung closed, and Castiel was alone.

The first thing he did was open the Internet on Sam's computer, as he had seen Sam do before. After that, though, he stared at the screen for a long time, unsure of what, exactly, he should look for.

He wanted to try to figure out what, exactly, had healed Dean, but that didn't seem very likely. If Sam hadn't succeeded in learning anything, then Castiel doubted that he would do any better. He also wanted to know where Azazel was, and how Castiel knew about him, but that held the same problem.

In the end, the question he finally asked was, _Are angels real?_

The answer, it seemed, was yes. The first website that he clicked on explained that angels were very much real, and that they worked to watch over humans. The second website claimed that they were merely stories, but its skepticism was overshadowed by the countless videos and pictures and stories of angels saving people. All in all, the evidence was very convincing, and Castiel began to feel somewhat better about the fact that he had heard the angels, though it did remind him of the fact that the voices had not returned.

But then, if there was so much proof, then why did Dean say that they weren't true? And why had Sam previously said that they had never found any actual evidence?

Castiel didn't understand, and he got the feeling the continuing his Internet search was not going to make things any clearer. He shut down the computer and pushed it aside.

About two and a half hours had passed at this point. Dean had said that they would return after three hours, but even if they were on time, there was still half an hour left before their return. That left him with nothing to do but pace the room, and wonder.

Wonder about who he was.

Wonder about whether the angels' voices were real, or if he were going insane.

Wondering about why the angels' voices had vanished, and how he could get them back, and whether he would even want them back if that was an option.

All of these thoughts were worrying, and he found no answers. Which was why he was grateful when Dean's phone suddenly rang, if only because it distracted him from the endless repetitions of his mind.

He grabbed the phone off the bed and checked the caller ID. He had expected it to be Sam, but no, it was a number that he didn't recognize. He answered the call, regardless. "Hello?"

There was a pause, and then Felicity Brunt's hesitant voice said, "Agent Campbell? Is that you?"

"Yes," Castiel said, feeling proud that he had remembered to use the correct name this time.

"I thought that this was Agent Kilmister's number?" she said, sounding a little confused.

"It is," Castiel said quickly. "Agent Kilmister left his phone in the motel room. He and Agent Dee are away on… official business." There. He hoped that that sounded professional enough to be believable. Then something occurred to him, and he said, "I don't know when Agent Kilmister will return. If you wish to have intercourse with him, I don't think that this would be the best time."

There was a long pause, and then Felicity said, "No, that wasn't why I'm calling."

"Oh," Castiel said. "Then why?"

"There's been another murder," she said, her voice shaking slightly. Castiel found himself wondering whether or not she was really called to a life of police work. Although, he supposed that she had reason to be emotional, considering the connection to her younger sister's death. Perhaps she hadn't been the best officer to be charged with this case.

There wasn't time to ponder that now, though. "When?" he asked, then added, "And where?"

"An abandoned barn just outside of town," she said. "And we haven't gotten the chance to do a thorough investigation, but the body was found by a homeless man who says that it doesn't look like it's been there for more than a couple hours."

So, it seemed as though Sylvia's ghost had gotten to one last victim before Dean and Sam had gone to dispose of it. Or, that was the likely solution, but Castiel still thought that this called for investigation. "I should call Sam – I mean, Agent Dee – and tell him about this."

"It's okay," Felicity said. "His number is also listed on Agent Kilmister's card. I'll give him a call in a moment."

"Thank you," Castiel said.

"Of course," she said, and Castiel was fairly certain that he heard a smile in her voice. "Do you have a car? Do you want me to give you the address so that you can meet me at the crime scene?"

"No," Castiel said. "My partners have the only car. I will wait until they return, although their… official business may take a while, and will have to be dealt with before we can join you at the crime scene."

"Okay," she agreed easily. There was a second's pause, then she said, "Actually, I was just about to head out there myself. Tell me where you are, and I'll swing around to pick you up."

"That is very kind of you," Castiel said. "Are you certain that this won't be any trouble for you?"

"None at all," she promised. "We all just want this case to be solved as quickly as possible, don't we?"

Castiel smiled. "I am in room nineteen at the Super 8 motel."

"I'll be there in a jiffy," she promised, then hung up the phone.

* * *

><p>True to her word, it only took Felicity five minutes to arrive at the motel room.<p>

"Are you ready to go?" she asked, the moment that he opened the door. "Don't mean to rush you or anything, but I want to get down there as soon as we can."

"Yes, I am ready," he said, reaching down to take the spare room key from the table where they had left it. He tucked it into the pocket of his trench coat – which he was once again wearing – and took an extra moment to be sure that he had all of the necessary items, including salt, a lighter, and the three knives that he had tucked into various pockets, so that they would be available should he ever need to defend himself. Dean still said that he wasn't ready to carry a gun just yet, despite the lessons. Nodding to himself, he turned and smiled at Felicity. "We can go now."

She led the way to the car, and gestured for him to circle around to the passenger seat. As he did so, he asked, "Have you called Agent Dee and Agent Kilmister?"

"I did," she said. "They said that they wouldn't be done with their 'official business' for another few hours, so they said that the two of us should just go ahead without them."

"A few hours?" Castiel asked. That was odd. He was expecting them within the hour. "It is taken them longer than expected, then. Have they run into trouble?"

"I don't know," Felicity said with a shrug. "They didn't tell me anything about where they are."

Yes, that did sound like what Sam and Dean would do. Castiel nodded and opened the passenger side door. As he did, he asked, "Did they say anything more?"

"Nothing," Felicity said. "Now come on, let's go."

Castiel nodded, though he drew Dean's cell phone from his pocket as he did so. He would call them on the way to the crime scene, just to make sure that they were alright, and that they weren't in need of his assistance.

Or, that was what he planned on doing, but before he got the chance, something in the shadows moved.

He instantly froze, his head whipping around to stare at where the movement had come from. Everything was still, enough so that he wondered if he had really seen it at all. But he found himself trusting his instincts, in this case. At the very least, he wanted to investigate. If there was something lurking in the shadows, then he didn't want it to catch Dean and Sam by surprise, since they would likely return to the motel room to change clothes before joining the investigation.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'll just be a moment." He closed the car door and drew the knife from his pocket, switching the cell phone over to his left hand so that he could hold the knife in his right. Whatever was in the shadows, it appeared to be hiding just around the corner from room nineteen, and Castiel carefully crept towards it.

"What are you doing?" Felicity called, climbing out of the car and taking a few steps forward, as if she were about to follow him. "I told you, we need to get going! I told my boss that I'd be there in ten minutes, and it's at least a fifteen minute drive."

"This won't take more than a moment," he promised, and stepped around the corner.

Nothing. At first. He was about to turn away when something caught his eye. There was very clearly a figure crouching against the wall, half hidden by a cardboard box and the other random assortment of trash that surrounded the motel. It was hidden well enough, but couldn't disguise itself completely. Castiel tightened his grip on the knife and took a step forward.

That was the exact moment that the figure attacked.

Castiel jumped back, instinctively swinging the blade upward to fend off the attacker. He retreated a few steps more, still staring hard at the attacker, to ensure that it didn't escape.

The attacker rushed forward. Now, Castiel could see that it held a knife of its own.

As it stepped into the light, Castiel also realized that it was a copy of himself.

The man before him didn't merely bear a strong resemblance to Castiel – it _was_ him, plain and simple. It was as if he were looking in a mirror, only the image was reversed, as if he were seeing himself as he really was, instead of looking at a mirror image. Even the clothing was identical.

The shock was enough that Castiel very nearly didn't block in time, but at the last moment, he managed to bring his arm up to hold the clone's arm at bay. The clone's arm struck his own with enough force to make him drop the cell phone he was still holding, but the knife blade did not touch him.

"What are you-" Castiel began to demand through gritted teeth, but then the clone attacked once more, and Castiel found himself too busy trying to avoid being stabbed to finish the sentence.

The clone swung. Castiel ducked, and took a step forward, brining the knife forward and attempting to stab the clone's abdomen. He jumped back, and then they circled each other, both of them narrowing their eyes at the other.

"Oh my god," Felicity said, her voice breathless and dazed. Castiel didn't dare to take his eyes off his clone long enough to look over at her, but he imagined that if he did, he would see that she was staring at the scene before her with wide, terrified eyes.

"Run," he instructed her, though she either didn't hear him, or was too terrified to follow his instructions.

He moved forward. The clone moved back. He swung. The clone jumped away just in time, but staggered slightly, his balance just the tiniest bit off.

There was only a second's window for Castiel to strike in. But then, a second was all he needed.

He rushed forward, raising the blade above his head. He used his opposite arm to shove straight into the clone forcing him back against the wall of the motel, holding him in place.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Felicity had her gun drawn now, and was pointing it toward the fight. "Get away from him," she shouted.

Castiel appreciated her attempts to help, but they really were not doing much good.

There wasn't time to worry about her now, though.

"Who are you?" Castiel demanded, leaning his face closer to the clone's and staring him straight in the eye, trying to read the answers out of them, but finding nothing. The clone's eyes were wide, and wild in a way that Castiel hoped that his own never were. He snarled, but refused to answer the question. Instead, he thrashed in Castiel's grip, struggling to get free.

Castiel sensed rather than saw the knife coming at him, and reacted instinctively, letting go of the clone with his left hand so that he could reach up and catch the clone's wrist, forcing the knife to still. The clone equaled him in strength, though, and for a second they were shoving against each other, the clone trying to force the knife down, and Castiel trying to hold him at bay.

The knife moved closer, and in an instant, Castiel realized that he was going to lose.

He did the only thing that he could think of.

He brought his own knife down and stabbed it straight into the center of the clone's chest.

The knife buried itself up to the hilt, and the clone staggered forward, his mouth opening and closing without a sound, pain written on every feature.

Then Castiel ripped the blade out. Blood spurted from the wound, and the clone collapsed.

Felicity was screaming, and he heard another voice – one of the motel's other guests, maybe – yelling for someone to call 911. And Castiel knew that he should do something. Run away, or find a way to contact Sam and Dean, or perhaps both. But for a minute, he stood frozen, watching as this copy of himself died, almost transfixed by the way that agony looked when it was written across his own features. It was, without a doubt, one of the most disturbing sights that he had ever encountered, second only to watching Dean be tortured by that witch.

Then Castiel snapped into focus. "It's alright," he said to Felicity, turning to face her, certain that she must be panicking now. "I'm not entirely certain of what is happening, but we'll figure it out. I'll call my partners-"

Something struck him across the back of the head, and his body crumpled. For a second, he blinked, wondering why he was suddenly eye-level with the grass, trying to fathom how he had possible ended up here. He was unconscious before he discovered the answer.


	12. Part 1, Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

Castiel opened his eyes, blinking up at the darkness above him. His head was aching, and he winced, instinctively trying to reach up to rub the side of his head. His arm didn't move. He tried again. Still, nothing happened. All it did was make his wrist begin to ache.

That was when he realized that he was tied up. Not in a chair this time, though. He was lying flat, his back against the cold dirt floor, his arms and legs spread wide by the ropes around his ankles and wrists. At first, he couldn't tell more than that, but he stayed still and blinked, and finally, his eyes began to grow adjusted to the darkness. His vision swirled and blurred, but after a few seconds, he did manage to realize where he was. He was in a room – a small room, barely wider and taller than his body, and the ropes were tied to the walls.

And he was completely alone.

He cleared his throat. His mouth was dry, but he swallowed hard, then managed to force his mouth to work. "Dean? Sam?" he called, keeping his voice low, in the hopes that whoever had kidnapped him wouldn't be able to hear. He had some vague feeling that that would be a good thing to do, even if his mind was too fuzzy for him to figure out why.

No response. He called again, louder this time, then louder still, no longer caring about the kidnapper hearing him. If the kidnapper was around, then he or she would likely come and force Castiel to be quiet, but until then, he was going to make all the noise that he could.

His voice grew hoarse from shouting, and he finally gave up. If Sam and Dean were nearby, then they would have heard and responded by now.

Unless they were still unconscious.

Or unless they were both much worse off.

Castiel shook his head wildly, trying to dispel those thoughts, thought all he succeeded in doing was making his head begin to ache even worse. But no, he absolutely refused to acknowledge those thoughts. Dean and Sam had both still been at the graveyard when he had been attacked. It was extremely unlikely that they had been involved. More likely was that they returned to the motel room and discovered that he was gone. Which meant that they would be looking for him. Which meant that they would find him.

Castiel took a long, slow deep breath and tried to calm his heartbeat, with a mild amount of success. It was alright. The Winchesters would come for him, and everything would be well. All he had to do was wait.

* * *

><p>Castiel did wait. For hours. Or, so he thought. There was no accurate way to measure the time. The gloom did eventually begin to lighten, so there must have been natural light coming in from somewhere. The fuzzy feeling in his mind faded slightly, until he could understand his own thoughts again, without having to wait while they processed in his mind.<p>

His nerves felt like live wires. He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but the phrase had been used in one of the TV dramas that Dean enjoyed so much, and the character in question had been terrified at the time, so Castiel figured that it was an apt description of his current state. He was feeling quite terrified himself.

Every second, he listened. Sometimes the boards creaked, because of the wind, or because he heard small animals skittering across them. There was a loft above him, he'd realized, the floor of which was the ceiling of his room. And the walls of his small room didn't reach all the way to the loft, nor all the way to the floor. There were gaps, maybe half a foot each. By staring under the gaps, he began to realize that there were other small rooms like this one, all in a row. In some of them, he saw piles of hay, or discarded tools that looked as though they hadn't been touched in years.

A barn, he thought. It was something that he had no experience with, outside of the one time that he had seen one of the TV. But he was fairly certain that that was where he was. And the small room was called a stable, he was reasonably sure.

It took his hours to figure that out. He wasn't sure if it was due to the slow nature of his thoughts, or because he was too terrified to think straight, or some combination of the two.

It took him even longer to make the connection that the body last night had been found in an abandoned barn, and to wonder if this barn was the same place. But then, he didn't see another body anywhere, nor did he smell one, but perhaps it was simply out of sight and not yet rotting.

He wondered about that quite a bit. He had plenty of time to worry about it, and nothing else to do to pass the time. He felt as though his time was torn between worry, terror, and attempts to escape.

The attempts did not go well. He tugged at the ropes, hoping to get the knots loose, but they did not give at all. He had taken to carrying knives in his sleeves, after seeing how useful Sam's knife had been, but whoever had taken him had also taken the hidden knives. There was nothing nearby that could be used to cut the ropes. He scanned every inch of the ground, hoping for some discarded tool or bit of metal that could aid him, but found nothing. He thought about chewing the ropes, but they held him too tightly – he couldn't maneuver his face close to any of the ropes, no matter how he contorted his body. It wasn't long before the throbbing in his head made him give up that strategy.

Again and again, he replayed the events of the previous evening, trying to determine what had brought him here. It was more difficult than he would have anticipated. His memories were vague, which made him worry that he would lose his memories. What would he do if Sam and Dean came for him, and he didn't even recognize their faces? It had never occurred to him to worry about this before, but what if his memory loss was reoccurring? What if he woke up every few weeks with no memories and the angels in his head, and this was the first stage?

Those thoughts did not help him. He took deep breaths. They did not help much. He tried to focus on the things that he did remember, which helped a bit more, in that it at least gave him something to think about, and almost distracted his mind.

There had been a clone of him, or whatever that had been. It had been hiding in the shadows, waiting for him to leave. And when he found it, it had attacked him.

The fight was a blur in his head, so he skipped over it, focusing on the one concrete memory that he had: his knife plunging into the clone's chest. The blood splatters. The pained gasps. The agony as it died.

So he had won the fight, and then ended up here.

He couldn't remember what happened after the clone's death, but it had led to an injured head, that much was clear. There had been people around, random strangers, so he supposed that one of them could have caused this. But the person closest to him had been Felicity Brunt. She had been standing right beside him, holding her gun. She could be the culprit. Or she could've been caught by the same person who had kidnapped Castiel, in which case, she would be another victim. He didn't know which it was, but regardless, she was clearly involved, somehow.

These thoughts kept the panic at bay, but he could feel it lurking just below the surface, ready to pounce at any moment. It was all he could do not to give in.

Any moment, he was certain, there would be heavy footsteps moving across the dirt, and someone would find him. He didn't know who it would be, but he knew that they would come, soon, now, any moment. Hours passed, and the feeling didn't disperse. He still felt himself waiting, almost panicking, expecting that this would be the moment, no, this would, it would happen, any second, he just had to wait long enough, someone would come-

And then someone did. The imagined footsteps became real, and for a moment, he was so shocked that he wondered if he were making it up. Maybe he wanted it so badly that his mind created the noise, to comfort him or torment him, he wasn't sure which. But no, they were definitely real, and they were coming closer and closer, until they finally stopped right outside his door.

He was holding his breath, he suddenly realized. He let it out in a long breath, and waited.

The door creaked open. His mind raced. Friend or foe? Someone to help him, or someone to hurt him? He couldn't tell.

Felicity Brunt stood in the doorway, staring down at him. She carried a lantern, and its glow allowed him to see her clearly. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red. Her shoulders shook even as he watched her, and the look on her face was perfectly blank.

"Felicity," he said, through dry lips. He still couldn't tell. Had the police found him? Had she been kidnapped, but had managed to escape and come aid him? Or-

"Don't say my name," she said. Her voice was low, and cracked halfway through the sentence, but it held more fury that he had ever heard in one sentence before.

Not friendly, then.

"You knocked me unconscious," Castiel said, slowly, almost more to test out the words than to accuse her of anything. But it must have been her. It was the only explanation for why she was here, now, staring down at him as if she was hoping for his death.

She didn't say anything, but she hung the lantern from a hook and stepped into the room - closer to him. For the first time, he noticed the knife in her hand, and recognized it as the same knife that the clone of himself had been wielding.

"You would have killed me," he said, his voice stronger now. This, he understood. There was no more wondering who the culprit was. Now, he knew, and all that was left was to find a way to defeat her. He might not know why she had done it, but that suddenly seemed irrelevant, and his mind sharpened to the hunting mode he always experienced when faced with a challenge.

The difference, though, was that this time, he couldn't fight. He couldn't even move.

"And you killed my brother," she said, and took another step forward.

"Your brother," he repeated dumbly, and his mind flashed to the... thing that had been wearing his body, whatever it had been. "That clone was your brother."

"Shapeshifter," she said, her voice low, almost a growl. "That's the word we use."

"Shapeshifter." Castiel felt as though he could do nothing but repeat her words, but he understood so little about what was happening that he could think of nothing else to say. And it wasn't as though he didn't believe in shapeshifters, but he had never known that they existed. Then again, there was much that he didn't know, and at that moment, what came out of his mouth next was, "So it wasn't a vengeful spirit."

Felicity's mouth twisted into a grimace, and he could see honest pain in her eyes as she said, "No, Sylvia's gone. We- We checked. She's passed on, wherever she goes." She crouched down beside Castiel. The blade gleamed in the firelight, and the stared down at it as she added, "We created our own vengeance."

Castiel blinked, and tried to understand. Slowly, the pieces began to combine in his mind, and he said, slowly, "Your brother was a shapeshifter... He could transform into whoever he wanted?"

"Yes," Felicity said slowly.

Her eyes were locked on his face now, her eyes wide and unblinking, and for a moment, he wondered if the look on her face was more unnerving than being left alone in the darkness had been. But he swallowed down his nerves and managed to continue, "Including the people who had killed you sister? He could become them, and confess."

"And Gretchen Strauss," Felicity added, her mouth twisting the word as if it were something dirty. "We knew she had been paid off, we knew she was in on it, but we never found any proof. Confessing it would do no good if there was no evidence to condemn her. But we found more than enough elsewhere. So we hit her where we could. Nobody will ever know the truth of the part she played in my sister's death, but I don't think it matters now. She's been punished enough, don't you think?"

Castiel's mind instantly supplied the image of Gretchen, lying across her bed and clutching at her knife wound, and then immediately pushed it aside. "But why?"

"Why we did this?" Felicity asked. "Or why they did?"

Castiel swallowed again, and said, "Both."

For a long moment Felicity was quiet. Then she tilted her head as if thinking hard, and said, "Do you have any idea what it's like to be willing to kill to protect someone? To do anything for them? Because that was what I felt for my little siblings. Now imagine how I felt when they were taken away from me."

"So you murdered her murderers," Castiel said.

"I would do anything for my sister," Felicity said, and suddenly, the knife was pressed against Castiel's shoulder, hard enough that he could feel the edge of the blade pushing against his flesh through the fabric, but not hard enough to cut him. "Or my brother."

Castiel took a deep breath, forcing his breathing to stay steady, and tried to think of anything to say that could stop her from hurting him the way that the look in her eyes seemed to indicate that she wanted to. Or, at the very least, anything that could keep her talking while he tried to think of a plan. "Why?" he finally said again.

Her face crumpled. It wasn't anger anymore. It was grief. "We knew why," she said.

She was silent then, her eyes distant. Castiel said nothing more, just kept his eyes locked on her, his mind racing with possibilities. He could knock her off balance and hope that he could take her knife – but there was no way to do that, not when he legs were also bound, and no guarantee that the knife would land close enough to his hands that he could grab it. The rope had no slack, not even the slightest bit of give. He couldn't move so much as an inch in either direction. He couldn't get away.

"Not at first," she said suddenly. There were fresh tears in her eyes now. One rolled down her cheek and hung for a second on her chin before falling. "He can read their thoughts, you know. When he becomes someone else. I don't know if Sylvia could, she never tried, never wanted to be anything but herself."

"She was a shapeshifter as well," Castiel said softly.

Felicity nodded, the gesture small enough that Castiel nearly missed it, just the tiniest inclination of her head. "And they found out."

Castiel thought about asking, but then stopped. He thought that he already knew.

"Never about Emory, never about my brother," she said. "Just Sylvia. They called her a monster, would have thought that they were both monsters, if they knew... But they only knew about her. So she was the only one who died."

Once again, Castiel swallowed, but this time, it was because he could feel bile rising in his throat. "I am so sorry," he said, the words barely more than a whisper. He didn't know how he could be, how he could feel sorry for the woman who had kidnapped him and was now slowly running her knife down his chest.

But he could imagine a young girl – her sister – being taken off and murdered because she wasn't quite human. And it made him sick.

Felicity didn't even acknowledge his words, but she must have heard him, because her eyes narrowed, her gaze seeming to sharpen. "You took my brother from me," she said, and then the knife dug down.

The pain flared, sharper than anything that he had ever felt, so white hot and burning that it took him several seconds to realize what was injured. His arm, he finally realized. His upper arm. Blood was soaking through the layers of fabric, until his sleeve was wet and heavy with it. And he was screaming. That was another thing that he didn't hear at first, not until he heard his own voice echo through his ears.

"It was supposed to be over, you know," she said, her voice quiet now. Her shoulders her shaking, her mouth quivering like she was on the verge of breaking down and sobbing. But she lifted the knife up, held it up so that he could see it, could watch the needs of blood drip off the edge of it, and her hand wasn't shaking. "Before you arrived, it was going to be over. We'd gotten everyone we needed. All three of them, the ones who did it, all of them were dead. It was supposed to be over. Nobody else could get hurt."

Castiel had finished screaming now, only because it didn't do any good. The pain refused to fade. It was there, present, not lessening at all, and all that screaming did was make his head throb worse. So instead, he panted hard, gasping for breaths that shouldn't be this difficult to draw, but he broke off long enough to gasp out, "But?"

Anything to keep her talking.

Anything to keep her from hurting him worse.

"You came," she said simply. She lowered the knife again, poking lightly at the place where he had been cut already, and it didn't matter that he could see the knife, could see that she was barely touching him with it, it still hurt as though she were pounding against his flesh, still made him choke on a scream that he tried – and failed – to stop when it was halfway out of his mouth.

"Hunters," she said, with obvious disgust. "I know what you do. You hunters save people, you think that it's your job, but why did you come here? How did you even find out about us?"

"How?" he asked. He didn't think that the word made sense – his voice was being strangled by the pain now, which was beyond anything he had ever experienced, or at least anything that he remembered experiencing.

Somehow, she understood. And she answered.

"You," she said. "You asked me about ghosts and demons – yes, I know the signs, I knew exactly what you meant the moment that you said it," Felicity told him. She lowered the knife again, once more pressing it against his chest without actually cutting him. "And you were on the wrong track – you weren't even close, not yet – but you'd come for us eventually, and I knew that you'd try to kill us for what we'd done. Hell, you'd probably kill my brother for what he could do, even if we'd never done anyone harm."

"No," Castiel protested, then stopped. They had come here with the intention of stopping the murders, that was true. And that usually meant killing the thing that had been doing the killings. But in this case- If they had known the reason why-

He wasn't sure what they would have done, if he were being honest. Maybe Dean and Sam would have let them go. Maybe not. He didn't know.

"Don't lie," she snapped, and sliced with the knife again, this one catching him across the chest. And again, he screamed. "Emory's been inside you head, remember? He's been you, he knew what you were thinking, you crazy little psychopath. Everything about you, what little you remember. He knew that you wouldn't let us go. We were trying to protect ourselves."

"How?" Castiel asked again. He was panting harder this time. His body was awash with pain.

"I took your picture at the crime scene," she said. "That was all he needed to- to transform. You were supposed to come with me, out here, alone. He would take your place, they'd never suspect it. You didn't know it was a shapeshifter, they'd think you were possessed, they'd never want to harm you- and then it'd be too late."

Her voice broke off, more tears flowing down her cheeks, her whole form the picture of heartbreak. But now, Castiel was picturing her and her brother, conspiring to kill them – to kill Dean, and to kill Sam, and he no longer felt the sympathy he had before.

"You plan on killing me now," he said. He didn't make it a question. He could imagine what her plan was.

She nodded. "You killed my brother," she said. Her voice wavered so much that it was nearly impossible to understand her now. "I went back for his body, you know," she said, choking out the words in between sobs. "I didn't want to leave it, but I barely got you to the car- Someone had seen you fight and called 911, and I had to leave." She broke off, shaking her head hard, then continued, "When I came back, the police were crawling everywhere. Your friends were there, too. I had to look at them and act like nothing was wrong, I couldn't let anybody know- And my brother's body was just being loaded into the ambulance. He was on... on a stretcher, and I watched them pull the sheet over him. It didn't even look like him- I don't even get to bury his body, he's stuck in your form now, and then they... they took him away from me."

The knife was beginning to waver now. This would be the perfect time to take her off guard, to try to break free. But still, Castiel couldn't move. And with the wounds now cut into his arm and chest, he didn't know if he could win a fight with her, even if he did manage to break one of the ropes so that he could attack.

"And all of it's your fault!" she announced, her voice suddenly turning into a scream. She lifted the knife over her head, breathing hard. Castiel didn't see and sanity left in her eyes, nothing to hint that she would stop.

She was going to kill him.

He squeezed his eyes closed, and waited.

Then there was a crash, and suddenly he heard Dean scream, "Come out here, you bitch!"

"Dean!" Castiel shouted, eyes flying open. He couldn't see them, he couldn't see anything outside of the stable, but he could hear them now, running toward him. He took a deep breath, and screamed again. "DEAN!"

Felicity was on her feet in an instant, spinning around. She knew that the Winchesters were coming for her, and was ready to fight back.

She didn't last even close to a minute. The door flew opened, and Dean came racing forward, not slowing down at all, just slamming straight into her, knocking her back against the opposite wall. She screamed. The knife fell from her hand. Then Dean's gun was against her head, and he pulled the trigger.

Her head exploded, chunks of blood and flesh sticking to the wall behind her covering Dean's jacket and face. He didn't even seem to notice.

Castiel watched, eyes wide, breathing hard.

Sam was already at his side. Castiel hadn't seen him enter, but there he was, already using a silver knife to cut the ropes holding Castiel. "It's okay, Jimmy," he said, his voice low and urgent. "We're here, it's okay, it's fine."

Castiel breathed, and nodded, and couldn't take his eyes off Dean.

Dean was instantly on his knees at Castiel's other side, pulling out his own knife and cutting the bonds. Already, Castiel was free. Sam grabbed him and helped him to sit up, which Castiel did. The pain made him gasp, but he managed, at least.

Dean didn't touch him. He was staring at Castiel, the same way that Castiel had been staring back at him. He didn't even appear to be blinking. One hand hovered at his side, halfway extended, like he wanted to reach forward and close the distance, but couldn't. He hardly even seemed to be breathing.

Castiel coughed. "Dean," he said weakly.

Then Dean hugged him, crushing Castiel against his body hard enough that it made his wounds flare with pain, but he didn't complain. He wrapped his arms around Dean and held on. One of Dean's arms was around his waist, the other one holding the back of his head, practically keeping Castiel upright, and Castiel buried his face against the side of Dean's neck and squeezed as tightly as he could. His whole body was shaking. He was fairly certain that he would've fallen if he hadn't had Dean there.

After a long time – not long enough – Dean moved back. He didn't take his hands off of Castiel, though, just extended his arms to separate their bodies, then looked Castiel up and down, his eyes instantly finding the two wounds. "Are you okay?" he demanded, his voice low and rough. "Where else are you hurt?"

"Nowhere," Castiel said, then winced. "My head."

Dean's hand was already along the back of his head, but now he moved his fingers carefully across Castiel's skin, feeling until he found the tender area where Castiel had been hit. "Anywhere else?"

"No," Castiel said.

Dean nodded, and a second later, Castiel found himself crushed against Dean's chest again. "Okay, you're going to be okay. We'll get you back to the motel and stitch you up."

"Okay," Castiel agreed softly.

Even so, it was several moments before the two of them managed to get up off the dirty stable floor and make their way out to the waiting Impala.


	13. Part 1, Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

Sam drove back to the motel.

Castiel had never seen Sam drive before, except for when they were returning from bars, and Dean was either drunk or with someone else. Now, though, Dean just reached into his pocket and handed over the keys, and Sam accepted them without comment.

Dean sat with Castiel in the backseat, his arms still around him, sitting in the middle section so that there wasn't any distance between them whatsoever. He had removed his jacket, and had it pressed against Castiel, keeping pressure on both of his wounds. But every once in a while his hand would move, just for a second. And Dean would touch Castiel's cheek, or top if his shoulder, or run one finger over the back of Castiel's hand as if he were somehow made of glass.

"The police already left," Sam said as they pulled into the motel parking lot. It was the first words that any of them had spoken since climbing into the car.

"Good," Dean said. "We don't need the hassle."

Castiel tried to insist that he could walk into the motel by himself. Dean didn't let him. Castiel didn't argue for long, just nodded and allowed Dean to wrap his arm around Castiel's waist and lead him to the door. Once inside, he carefully helped Castiel to sit on the closest bed, and Castiel leaned back, resting against the headboard, just as Sam had when they'd needed to stitch up his neck.

Stiches. Castiel remembered this part now. It hadn't looked pleasant when Sam had been the one to receive them, and Castiel didn't particularly want to know what it would feel to have them in his own body.

Dean must have caught the look on his face – not surprising, since Dean hadn't seemed to look away from Castiel in all this time – and said, "Maybe we should take you to the hospital. They've got the good painkillers there."

Castiel shook his head. "I'm fine," he said. If Sam could be stitched up this way, then so could he. And more than that, he wasn't sure if he would trust anyone besides Sam and Dean to treat him. Realistically, he knew that the people at the hospital would not be trying to harm him, and that they were probably better people for the job. It was difficult to convince his mind of this, though. He would much rather accept the extra pain if it meant that he didn't have to leave the motel, and the safety of Sam and Dean's presence.

Dean frowned. "You sure?" he asked. "You've never done this before, have you? You-"

"I am fine," Castiel insisted. "Just begin, please."

Sam nodded. "I'll-"

Dean shook his head. "No, I've got it," he said.

Now, it was Sam who looked worried. "You sure?" he asked. "Because maybe I should-"

"I got it," Dean snapped.

After that, Sam said nothing more. Instead, he set the first aid kit onto the bed besides Castiel and gave the two of them a long look, then said, "We don't have any whisky. I'm going to go get some."

"Good idea," Dean said, and Sam stood there for a minute longer, looking at Castiel. Finally, he realized that Sam was waiting for his approval before actually leaving. So he nodded, and Sam nodded back, then left the motel.

Dean turned his back on Castiel, crossing over to the sink on the far side of the room, in the kitchen area. He turned on the faucet, then bent and stuck his face under the water, grabbing a washcloth to help him wipe the blood from his face. He washed his hands next, then braced himself against the counter for a moment. Castiel watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath, and then he turned and strode back to Castiel's bed. "Okay," he said. "Let's do this."

Dean's hands were shaking as he threaded the needle, so much so that Castiel wondered for a moment it Sam should be the one to stitch up his injuries, if the two of them should wait until he returned. Then Dean took a deep breath, and his hands instantly steadied, so Castiel said nothing.

"I need to take a look at them," Dean said, setting the needle aside and turning to Castiel. "You need to-" His voice broke off, and then he said, "Here, let me help."

Castiel very carefully sat up, wincing again as he did, and allowed Dean to remove his trench coat, carefully holding the fabric away from his wounds so that he didn't cause Castiel any more pain. Castiel appreciated that. The shirt was harder, as it was stuck to his wounds with blood. Castiel gritted his teeth and Dean very carefully pealed the fabric away from his skin, and managed not to make a single noise. Even so, Dean's face was pale by the time that he were done, to the extent that you'd think that he had been the one who was injured.

"This one isn't so bad," Dean said, one finger hovering over the cut across his chest, but not touching it. "I'll bandage it real good, and I don't think that you'll need stitches there."

Castiel took it to mean that the other wound would need stitches, and was proved correct immediately, as Dean turned and picked up the needle again. He pulled his lighter from his pocket and flicked it a few times before he managed to draw a flame, then held the needle into it. "Sterilizes the needle," Dean explained. He held the needle in place for about a minute, then snapped the lighter closed. Castiel nodded weakly, his eyes locked on the needle, as if he was incapable of looking away.

Dean gave the needle a few minutes to cool, then turned to Castiel. "Ready?" he asked, his voice hard. He seemed to be bracing himself, just as Castiel was.

Castiel nodded, and decided that the best thing that he could do was to make sure that he let no amount of pain show on his face or in his voice, so that this would be easier for Dean. And he liked the idea of having a goal, of assigning himself a task, and decided that he was not going to allow himself to fail at fulfilling it. So he squared his shoulders, and nodded a second time. "I am ready," he said, being sure that his voice didn't waver.

Dean was quick. That made it easier. And it didn't hurt quite as badly as it had when the cut had been made – or, Castiel was endeavoring to convince himself of that, though he wasn't entirely certain that it was the truth.

But his task was successful, at least. He didn't even flinch. At one point, he realized that his hands her curled into fists, clutching tight to the bed sheets, and forced himself to spread them flat. Hopefully Dean hadn't noticed.

"There," Dean said, leaning back and tossing the needle into the trashcan beside the bed.

"You are finished?" Castiel said, and couldn't prevent the relief from appearing in his voice.

"Still got to disinfect it," Dean warned.

Ah, right. Castiel had forgotten that part. Now that he remembered, though, he recalled the way that Sam had gritted his teeth in pain when the alcohol had been poured over his wound.

But it was alright. Castiel would handle it.

Dean rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand. And Castiel had been staying close to Dean ever since the Winchesters had come to his rescue, watching his every move, but before, he'd been too caught up in pain and relief to pay attention to Dean's appearance. Now, though, he could see that Dean looked exhausted, with dark circles that stood out like smudges across his skin. The clock on the wall claimed that it was six in the morning, and Castiel wondered if Dean had slept at all, or if all of the previous evening had been spent digging up a grave, and then hunting Felicity without time to rest.

Slowly, Castiel reached out and placed his hand on Dean's knee. Dean stiffened, and Castiel was about to pull back, but then Dean placed his hand on top of Castiel's hand, holding it in place. Castiel took a deep breath, something akin to relief racing through him, and then asked, "Dean, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean snapped at once, then shook his head. "Jesus, don't do that!"

Castiel frowned, wondering if Dean was choosing this moment to pray, and why he would choose to do so, considering his lack of belief. It took a moment for Castiel to realize that the second part had been directed at him.

"Do what?" Castiel asked, wondering what he had possibly done wrong. Well, he supposed that he shouldn't have gotten kidnapped, but that was hardly something that he could help. It wasn't as though he had asked to be tortured, after all.

Dean didn't look inclined to answer, but even if he was planning to, he didn't get the chance. Sam walked into the room then, a paper bag in one hand. "How are you doing?" he immediately asked, looking over at Castiel.

Castiel thought for a moment, considering what answer he should give. He wanted to be truthful, but then, he also didn't want either Winchester to worry. "I am far better than I was earlier," he finally settled on, then added, "And Dean has finished his stitching."

"Well, that's good, at least," Sam said. He came over to stand beside Castiel and drew the whiskey from the bag, taking the top off and holding it out to him. "Here, you're probably going to want a swig of this."

Castiel frowned, not wanting to take the bottle for multiple reasons. For one, he didn't want to use his injured arm, and he also didn't want to remove his hand from where Dean was still holding it. It seemed silly to say that, though, so what he finally said was, "I don't want to get drunk." His head had already felt fuzzy once this morning, and it still ached as if it wasn't quite back to normal. Adding a hangover on top of that seemed like a terrible idea.

"No," Sam agreed. "I'm pretty sure that drunkenness and a possible concussion don't mix well. Just take a few drinks, it'll help a bit."

Castiel still wasn't inclined to agree, but right then, Dean let go of his hand and took the bottle from Sam, then placed it in Castiel's hand. And Castiel frowned, but gave in, taking a small sip. The alcohol was strong, and burned his throat a bit, though it didn't bother him much, considering that it utterly paled in comparison to the other pains that he had been through that day. So he took a long drink, swallowing as much as he could stand to drink at one time, then gasped for breath for a moment before taking another drink. Then he held it out to Dean. "Alright, I believe I'm done."

Sam was the one who took the bottle from his hands. "This is going to sting," Sam warned. "Like, a lot."

Then he poured a small stream of liquor over Castiel's cut arm. And he had been right – it did sting, but that word didn't seem strong enough to encapsulate the sensation that burned through his arm. This time, there was no doubt that the stitches had been far less painful than this, and he found himself gasping, still fighting to keep his pain from appearing on his face. Judging by the way that Dean turned away, though, he had not been successful.

Sam poured the liquor over the second wound the very second that he had finished with the first, without any further warning. Castiel wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but at least it meant that it was over fast, and then Sam was carefully mopping the excess liquid from Castiel's chest and arm, then reaching for the bandages. He wrapped the wounds carefully, with obvious skill, and then finally, Castiel could lean back against the headboard, relieved that it was over.

"Did either of you sleep?" Castiel asked, looking up as Sam tried his best to hide a yawn.

Sam shook his head. "Of course not," he said, like he was surprised that Castiel had even had to ask. "The two of us were up all night, looking for your-" He cut off suddenly, his eyes flickering toward Dean, and then he just said, "No way we could ever sleep after that."

"I suggest that you rest, then," Castiel said, and after a moment, he said, "I would like to, as well."

"Yeah, good idea," Dean said quickly, looking back over toward him. "Do you want to change, or-?"

"No," Castiel said. The thought of moving at all seemed to be almost too much. He would be fine in the clothes that he was currently wearing, though he did tow off his shoes and kick them until they fell off the side of the bed. "Would you mind if I take-"

He didn't have to finish the question. "No way in hell are you gonna have to take the couch tonight," Dean said at once, and Castiel nodded gratefully, scooting forward and then leaning back so that he could rest his head against the pillow.

"You can take the other bed," Sam offered, already grabbing a pillow and heading for the couch.

Dean shook his head immediately. "Like you'd even fit on that tiny thing," he said, indicating the couch, which was a bit shorter than normal. "No, go ahead and sleep. I'm going to sit up for a while, anyway."

"You sure?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. He glanced over at Castiel, then added, "I'm sure."

"Okay," Sam said, and didn't argue. He just pulled out pajamas and headed to the bathroom to change out of his dirty clothes, then returned a minute later and turned off the light before climbing into bed.

Dean sat in the chair across the room, by the table, but Castiel could sense him still watching him. It was... nice, actually. Castiel was certain that nothing would be able to hurt him. Not tonight, at least.

Time passed. The clock told him that it had been half an hour, and by all accounts, Castiel should be asleep by now. Sam obviously was, and Castiel was certainly exhausted enough that he should sleep the moment that the lights were turned off. For some reason, though, sleep didn't come.

He couldn't toss and turn, not with his injuries, so instead, he laid perfectly still on his back, trying not to think about how he had been lying in the same position in the stable, and hoped that he would fall asleep soon.

Then he heard Dean stand. Going to lie down on the couch now, Castiel assumed, but then he heard the chair being scraped across the floor. Dean dragged it over and stopped beside Castiel's bed, close enough that Castiel could feel his knees pushing against the mattress. He didn't say anything, or reach out toward Castiel. He was just there.

It was reassuring, honestly, and after another couple minutes, Castiel finally fell asleep.

* * *

><p>He woke to someone putting a hand on his shoulder.<p>

Instantly, Castiel's eyes flew open, his hands flying up to defend himself, because for a single moment, he was certain that Felicity had returned to torture him some more, that he was back in the barn, preparing to be cut with the knife again-

A hand caught his wrist, gentle enough that it gave Castiel pause. Then he realized that it was Dean staring down at him, not Felicity, and his body relaxed. "Is something wrong?" he asked, keeping his voice to a whisper so as to not wake Sam, who was still fast asleep in the other bed.

"Just need to ask you a couple of questions," Dean said. Castiel frowned, and wanted to protest that surely the questions weren't so important that they couldn't wait until after he had gotten the chance to sleep more, but in the end, he simply nodded, and Dean asked, "What's your name?"

Castiel stiffened, trying to reason out the motive behind the question. He didn't think that Dean had discovered the fact that Jimmy Novak was as alias – though Castiel was no longer quite as certain that the name was fake as he once had been. And even if Dean had figured it out, it seemed unlike him to only allow Castiel a couple hours of sleep before confronting him on it.

"Come on, Jimmy," Dean coaxed. "Just answer the questions so I can make sure you don't have some horrible brain injury and then I'll let you get back to sleep."

Oh, that was the reason. Castiel didn't fully understand what the purpose was, but he answered, "Jimmy Novak."

The corner of Dean's mouth pulled up into a one-sided grin. "I kinda gave that one away, didn't I?" he asked, then added, "Okay, harder one. What was the name of the ghost that you ganked to save my ass?"

Castiel furrowed his forehead, and thought hard, trying to remember. "Maison, wasn't it?"

"Awesome," Dean said. "Okay, go back to sleep now."

Castiel nodded, then closed his eyes and obeyed.

* * *

><p>Dean woke him again a few hours later. "How did that creepyass chef witch kill his vics?"<p>

Castiel blinked, not even bothering to open his eyes this time, just pushed his head against the pillow to protest the fact that he had been woken. But he answered, "Hex bags."

"What was the name of the thing that bit Sammy?"

"A Vetala."

This time, Castiel could hear the smile in his voice. "Okay, what was the first thing I ever said to you?"

Castiel opened his eyes, glancing over at Dean. It was midday now, and the light streamed in through the windows despite the curtains that covered the windows, making it easy to make out Dean's features. "That depends," Castiel said. "You asked Sam if he was okay, and I thought that you were talking to me, so I answered and said that I was fine. But then you said 'good', so I suppose that that was the first thing that you said to me."

Dean grinned, though he also looked a little surprised. "Shit, that was weeks ago," he said. "I was trying to stump you."

Castiel frowned. "Would it be a good thing if I didn't answer the question correctly?"

Dean immediately shook his head immediately. "No, the fact that you've gotten them all is definitely good. Means that you don't have anything more serious than a concussion, probably."

"Oh," Castiel said, then squinted up at Dean. "Have you slept at all?"

He didn't need to wait for Dean's response. The answer was obvious from the exhausted look on Dean's face.

"Sam's bed is currently empty," Castiel said, glancing over at the other bed. "I suggest that you steal it from him before he returns."

Dean grinned again. "I like the way that you think," he said with a grin. "But nah, I'm good. I'll move to the couch in a minute. Just go back to sleep, okay?"

"Alright," Castiel said, and closed his eyes again. "But promise that you will rest again."

"I promise," Dean said, and Castiel fell asleep before he got the chance to see if the promise was kept or not.

* * *

><p>Dean was still beside Castiel when he woke a few hours later.<p>

Castiel sat up, then instantly regretted it. He had forgotten about his wounds, but now, the pain of them returned to him, and he quickly laid back down, scanning the room from his prone position. The clock read that it was three in the afternoon, Sam's bed was both messy and empty, and Dean was slumped across Castiel's bed, still asleep.

Clearly he'd never gone to the couch, even though he had said that he would. Instead, he must have fallen asleep sitting up in the chair, and shifted positions sometime during the night, because not he was leaning forward, the side of his face pressed against the mattress, snoring slightly.

Castiel watched him for a minute, and frowned. He had no objections to Dean sleeping like this, but it didn't look like a comfortable position, and he didn't wish for Dean to hurt his back. After spending so long on the streets, Castiel had more than enough experience with how sore an uncomfortable way of sleeping could make you. But at the same time, Dean clearly needed the rest.

Finally, though, Castiel decided to wake him. He sat up – far more carefully this time – then reached over to shake Dean's shoulder gently.

Dean jerked awake in an instant, his head flying up and one hand instinctively reaching for his jacket pocket that still held his gun.

"It's alright," Castiel said quickly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he stopped himself just in time. He wasn't sure if the gesture would be appreciated, or if it would only startle Dean worse. Instead, he settled for repeating, "It's alright."

Dean looked at him, then relaxed, just slightly. "Jimmy," he said, his voice a little breathless, and holding the last remnants of fear, though Dean would vehemently deny that if Castiel ever mentioned it to him. He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, then asked, "How are you feeling?"

"I am alright," Castiel promised him. "Or, I am recovering, at least." He glanced around the room, and for the first time, felt a little stab of fear. "Where is Sam?" He had noticed Sam's absence the last time that he had woken, but it was only now that he was awake enough to realize that the worrying implications of that.

Dean also glanced around, and shrugged, but didn't look particularly worried about it, which made Castiel relax. If Dean wasn't bothered, then there couldn't be anything wrong. "Don't know," he said. "Probably went out somewhere." He stood and walked over to the table, stumbling as if he wasn't completely awake yet, then snorted. "He left a fucking note," he said, holding it up for Castiel to see. "Apparently he took his laptop to a coffee shop so that he wouldn't 'bother us'. Since when does he fucking leave a note?" He shook his head and read something else from the paper, then headed over to the refrigerator and pulled it open, pulling out two takeout containers. "Sammy's making himself useful, at least," he said, glancing over at Castiel. "You hungry?"

Castiel's stomach immediately grumbled, and he nodded. "Extremely," he said.

The motel had a microwave, so it only took Dean a minute to heat their hamburgers. Castiel began to climb to his feet, but Dean stopped him with a shake of his head. "Let's just eat here," he said, sitting carefully on the end of the mattress so as to not jolt Castiel and holding out a plate. Castiel agreed immediately. It wasn't that he didn't think that he could move, because he wasn't so badly injured that he wouldn't be able to get around, and he could deal with the extra throbs of pain that accompanied his movements. Still, just staying in bed sounded nice, and if that was Dean wanted as well, then Castiel was most definitely not going to argue.

For a minute, they just ate in silence, both of them hungry enough that they didn't want to focus on anything else. After he had finished his hamburger, though, he looked up at Dean, who was yawning as he took his last bite.

"Do you want to sleep more?" Castiel asked. "You couldn't have gotten much rest today." And even if Dean had slept for a few hours, Castiel couldn't imagine that it had been a deep sleep, considering the position he had been in.

"Nah, I'm good," Dean said at once, exactly as Castiel had expected that he would. "I got my four hours, I'll be fine."

Castiel shook his head – despite what Dean said, he was reasonably certain that more than four hours of sleep were required in order for a body to function correctly. "Sam's bed is currently empty," he pointed out. "You could sleep there." Dean just shook his head again, and Castiel hesitated, then scooted over toward the side of the bed, until there was enough room beside him for another person to lay down. "Or you could sleep here."

Dean frowned, and for a moment, Castiel was sure that he was still going to say no. Then another yawn split his features, and he slowly nodded, much to Castiel's relief. "Yeah," he said, leaning forward and setting his empty plate on the beside table, doing the same with Castiel's. Then he stretched out on his stomach, one arm flopping over the side of the bed, his eyes closed.

Castiel scooted closer to the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb Dean. He planned on moving to the couch, so that Dean could have the bed to himself.

Dean's hand reached out and closed around his wrist.

Castiel glanced back at him. His eyes were still closed, and he gave no indication that he had moved, but his fingers were still wrapped around Castiel's skin, holding him in place.

Slowly, Castiel leaned back against the headboard, then scooted closer to Dean. Dean still didn't respond, but he also didn't let go, and kept hanging on to Castiel even after his breathing evened out and he dropped into sleep.

* * *

><p>Sam returned to the motel room a few hours later, carrying a couple of pizza boxes for dinner. Dean was still asleep, and still holding Castiel's wrist<p>

Castiel immediately lifted his free hand to his hand to his mouth, signaling for Sam to be quiet. Sam glanced at the bed, looking a little surprised to see Dean sleeping beside Castiel, but didn't ask any questions, and after the first surprised look, he acted as if this was completely normal behavior.

Considering the amount of food that Dean normally consumed, Castiel thought that it was a good idea to wake him for dinner. Sam, though, shook his head when Castiel suggested it. "There'll be leftovers whenever he wakes up," he explained in a whisper. He hesitated then, like he wasn't sure if he should say anything more, but finally, he added, "And he doesn't always sleep so well. Let him enjoy it while he can."

Castiel had to admit that he saw the logic in that, so he and Sam ate dinner together – Castiel eating him from the bed, using one hand so that he didn't have to remove himself from Dean's grip. Afterward, Sam changed the bandages over Castiel's wounds – an ordeal that wasn't nearly as painful as Castiel had expected – then grinned and said that he was healing well.

"Did you do more research today?" Castiel asked. Sam nodded, and Castiel added, "Anything useful?"

"I don't know," Sam said, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, in almost an exact copy of the tired gesture that Dean had made earlier. "Azazel seems to have gone quiet. Not that I'm really looking for him, since Ash is supposed to be covering that. But no, I still haven't found any definite info on whatever it was that saved Dean."

Castiel hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he could ask this question without appearing insane, but he finally took a deep breath and decided to ask, "Do you think that it could be angels?"

Much to Castiel's relief, Sam didn't immediately deny it. "I've been doing some research on that, actually," he said.

Castiel frowned, and glanced down at Dean before saying, "I thought that they didn't exist?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe they don't," he said, his voice tired. "But I might as well try it out, don't you think? Besides, it's not like anyone has ever proved that they don't."

"But Dean said-" Castiel began.

And again, Sam simply shrugged. "Dean might not know everything," he said, then sighed and ran his hand over his face again. "I saw the research you were doing yesterday. I didn't mean to spy on you or anything, it's just after… what happened," he said, obviously speaking carefully now, "I checked my laptop's history, to see if you had figured out something that we didn't know, and that was why it happened."

Huh. Castiel hadn't known that it was possible, but then, it also didn't particularly surprise him. "And?" he asked. "I saw the videos. They all seemed very convincing, and most of them mentioned some sort of white light."

"But none of them mentioned a noise so strong that it broke all of the machinery around you," Sam countered, and Castiel assumed that that must have been what happened in Dean's hospital room. "You can't trust everything that you see online. Whenever you're looking for information on the supernatural, you end up sifting through a lot of crap before you find the real stuff."

Again, this was news to Castiel, and for a moment, he wasn't sure how to respond. Finally, he said slowly, "I want to believe that angels exist, but-" He broke off, and frowned to himself. If the angels were real, why wasn't there actual proof, beyond online videos and stories that Sam claimed were likely faked? And more than that, why would they speak to him, of all people, and then abruptly vanish without a trace, and never so much as whisper in his mind again, no matter how hard he tried to listen?

Maybe the angels had never existed.

It was easier to consider that possibility now. Without the voices constantly murmuring in his head, forcing him to acknowledge their reality, he was almost beginning to think that he may have made it all up, after all.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Me, too." He suddenly stood and headed over to pull a tee shirt and sweat pants from his bag. "I know it's pretty early, but do you want to turn in for the night? I only got about three hours of sleep this morning, and I know that you've got to be worn out."

"Yes," Castiel admitted, somewhat sheepishly. It was strange, because he had slept for eight hours this day, and it had only three or four hours since he had woken. More than that, he had spent all of that time lying in bed, doing absolutely nothing strenuous. He should be wide awake right now. Instead, he yawned. Apparently being kidnapped and tortured was much more tiring than he would've expected.

He carefully settled himself into the bed. Dean squirmed slightly, but didn't wake as Castiel laid down beside him.

In all the time that Castiel had been staying with the Winchesters, nobody had ever suggested that any of them share a bed. Castiel had been under the impression that that was something that wasn't typically done, and never made the suggestion himself, even though he wasn't sure why it would be a bad thing. Now, though, Dean had been the one to begin it, so Castiel did not think that it would be an issue.

He had expected it to be at least somewhat awkward to have someone in the space beside him. It wasn't, though. If anything, he enjoyed it.

He hesitated, then shuffled to the side slightly, until his arm was pressed up against Dean's. The feeling was comforting.

Sam came out of the bathroom, and threw his clothes onto the nearby table without bothering to fold them or return them to his duffle, as he usually did. Then he paused, standing in the middle of the motel room and looking over at Castiel.

"It was a shapeshifter, wasn't it?" Sam suddenly asked.

Castiel nodded, realizing for the first time that he hadn't told the Winchesters about anything that he had learned from Felicity, and that neither of them had asked.

Sam nodded back. "I figured that that had to be it," he said. "Once we found you in the barn, there wasn't any other explanation." He nodded again, this time to himself, then walked over and turned off the light.


	14. Part 1, Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

When Castiel woke the next morning, the first thing that he noticed was that Dean was no longer in bed with him.

He sat up slowly, blinking around the room. Sam's bed was also empty, and just like the day before, he didn't appear to be in the motel. Castiel guessed that he had once again found another coffee shop to go continue his research. Dean, though, was over at the motel's coffee maker, looking like he was trying – and failing – to figure out how to use it.

"Dean," Castiel said.

Dean glanced over his shoulder and grinned at him. "Hey," he said. "You feel like getting up and doing something today?"

"Yes," Castiel said, already climbing to his feet. He was completely tired of staying in bed, and just getting up and walking sounded like the best idea in the world.

His trench coat and shirt were in a crumpled heap on one of the chairs. Castiel walked over and picked them up, frowning. The shirt didn't matter whatsoever – he already had two other identical shirts, so the loss of one didn't bother him. What did bother him was the bloodstains on his coat, which looked like they were not going to be washed out any time soon. And even if they did manage to remove the stains, they would have to do something about the two tears that Felicity's knife had carved into them.

"Yeah, we probably should've thrown them out already," Dean said. He came over and took them from Castiel's hands, balling them up and tossing them toward the nearest trash can. Then he glanced back and saw the look on Castiel's face, and added, "We can get you another trench coat. I mean, you're going to need to give you something else to wear when you're acting like an FBI agent, anyway."

"Thank you," Castiel said. He wasn't certain if he could ever find another coat that was as good as his first had been, and he was disappointed that he'd only gotten the chance to wear it for one case, but it was kind of Dean to offer.

"There's bagels and shit," Dean said, gesturing to the bag on the table. "Sam's idea of a good breakfast, apparently. Don't blame me for the fact that they're all disgusting whole grain crap, I wasn't the one who picked them out."

Castiel smiled and sat himself at the table, carefully picking out a bagel from the bag and taking a bite. Dean fought with the coffee maker for another few minutes, then finally succeeded in making two cups of coffee, then joined Castiel at the table, setting a mug in front of each of them.

Castiel figured that this was as good a time as any to start asking questions. He sipped his coffee – wincing a bit at the bitter taste, then accepting the packet of sugar that Dean offered him – and thought about what to say. Finally, he decided to start with the basics. "How did you and Sam find me?"

Dean swallowed, and something in his face shifted, which made Castiel wonder if this hadn't been such a simple question, after all. He did answer, though. "There'd been a witness," he said, using a forced-casual voice that made it clear that he didn't like talking about this. "Said that he saw the stabbing, and then a police officer matching her description had dragged the guy who had done the stabbing off in the back of her car." He stopped, and swallowed. "We sorta figured that she'd be taking him off to arrest him, but when that didn't happen, we started digging into her past a little more. Saw her number on my cell phone, figured out that she'd called you about ten minutes before it happened, decided that there was something fishy going on. Her family had once owned this barn that was now abandoned, figured we might as well start there." He looked away, and shrugged. "Didn't really know for sure that she was there, or that she was the bad guy we were looking for, but we had to do something, you know?"

Castiel nodded. "I am very grateful that you managed to find me," he said.

Dean snorted, though he obviously didn't feel any amusement. "Yeah, me too," he said.

There was something slightly odd about the way that he was speaking. Castiel carefully scooted his chair closer to Dean's, moving it around the table until they were sitting only inches apart, and then used the closer distance to better study Dean's face. "What's wrong?" he asked after a minute.

"What?" Dean asked, then shook his head. "Nothing."

"No, I sense that there is something more," he said, hoping that he was right. His people skills were obviously not that well developed, but he had gotten much better at reading Dean Winchester's emotions, and he was fairly certain that he was right about this. Then he remembered, and said, "The day that I was attacked, you got angry with me, and told me not to do something again. What did I do?"

Dean shook his head again, more empathetically this time. "Nothing," he said. Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Dean said, "No, really, nothing. It's not like you went around begging to get kidnapped and all cut up. It's just- God, Jimmy, you scared the shit out of me, okay?"

Castiel frowned. "I am sorry," he said sincerely. "My disappearance must have been frightening-"

"Disappearance?" Dean asked, then broke off and once more shook his head. Castiel was beginning to think that it was a defensive gesture more than a denial.

Castiel's frown deepened, and he leaned even closer to Dean. "What?" he asked. When Dean didn't say anything more, he prodded, "Please, tell me what you're thinking."

Dean turned back to him. "Jesus fuck, Jimmy," he practically snapped. "We thought that you were dead."

For a moment, Castiel could only stare.

"What?" he asked, then quickly said, "I am okay."

"Yeah, I know that now," Dean said, and was instantly on his feet, as if he couldn't stand to remain sitting any longer, and began pacing beside the table with a restless energy. "But what the hell was I supposed to think, huh, when I arrived back at the motel after spending four hours digging up a fucking grave, and there are cops swarming everywhere talking about how there had been a murder, and then we get over there and there's your fucking body lying on the ground."

Castiel froze. He had known that the shapeshifter had worn his body when he'd died, but he had never thought about the implications before now. Perhaps it was understandable, given everything else that had been occupying his mind, but suddenly, he was overrun by horror, imagining what that must have been like, and how he would feel if he had been in that position, finding Dean's lifeless body on the ground. It was not something that he wished to think about. "Dean-"

Dean was not finished. It was as if a dam had burst, and the words kept coming. "So then we're trying to lead an investigation, because I was absolutely fucking determined that we were going to find this thing now, so we're questioning people about how you were fighting with some other guy that the witness didn't get a good look at, and then we're asking about the details of how you were stabbed in the chest, and how you were dead from the moment your body hit the ground, they tried to see if CPR would do anything but it-" His voice broke off, and he had to take a breath before he could continue. "And you know what? The whole time I was hunting this bitch, I was thinking that I was doing it because I wanted to find your murderer and make 'em pay for what they did for you, and you are not fucking allowed to do that to me again, you got it?"

Castiel swallowed. "Yes, I got it," he promised, then stood and took a step closer to Dean. Dean didn't stop moving, or even acknowledge him. "I am sorry, Dean," he said. "The shapeshifter was trying to kill me, and stabbing him was the only means of self defense that I had available. And I would have stayed around to explain to you that I was still alive, but Felicity knocked me unconscious before I could."

"Yeah, I got that," Dean said, and rubbed his eyes again. "God, I hate that fucking bitch. I'm glad that I got to blow her brains out."

Castiel thought back on what she had told him about her siblings, and wasn't sure if he could bring himself to share Dean's hatred, despite everything. He did not think it would be useful to say that, though, and so he remained silent.

Instead, he took another step toward Dean and placed one hand on his shoulder. Dean was facing away from Castiel – he had turned that way during his pacing – and now he froze in place. Castiel could feel the tenseness of Dean's muscles under his hands.

"I really am sorry," he said. "It was rude of me to let you think that I was dead. I will make sure that it doesn't happen again."

Dean's shoulder shook slightly as he chuckled, still without any humor, but Castiel took that as a good sign. He stepped closer, until he and Dean were barely an inch apart. Immediately, his thought went to the things that Dean had said before about personal space, but right now, he hardly thought that it mattered. And anyway, Dean did not protest, though he did stiffen even further under Castiel's fingers.

"I will not leave you if you do not wish me to," Castiel said softly. "I can promise you that right now." Privately, he wondered at the fact that he even got to make this promise. He had always assumed that eventually, he would be made to leave the Winchesters, and that it would be Dean's decision. Or perhaps Sam's, but Sam had always seemed slightly more inclined to let Castiel stick around, while Dean had been the one who had been eager to go back to hunting alone with his brother.

And that might still happen someday, but Castiel still felt confident in making this promise. If he left, then it would be because Dean had wanted him to, and not because Castiel wished to abandon them.

Castiel hesitated, then added, "I will always be here, if you wish." Immediately, he wondered if this was going too far, if Dean would be uncomfortable with that kind of promise. Castiel shoved down the doubts, though, because Dean looked as though he needed to hear something like this.

Dean didn't respond for a long minute, and Castiel once again began to worry that he had made a mistake, after all. He removed his hand from Dean's shoulder and took one step back, enough to put slight distance between them, but not enough that he left Dean completely.

"You mean that?" Dean asked. HIs voice was hoarse, and he was using a tone of voice that Castiel had never heard from him before.

Castiel blinked, surprised that Dean even had to ask. "Of course," he said, and meant it sincerely.

There was another second where Dean did not move.

Then Dean spun around and grabbed him. Castiel stiffened instinctively, more because he wasn't sure what was happening than because he had any issue with the fact that Dean's hands were now on his waist, holding tight, his nails digging into Castiel's skin in a way that was almost painful. "What are you-?" Castiel began, but there was no time for answers, not even time for Castiel to finish his question, because then Dean pressed his lips against Castiel's.

That made Castiel stiffen further, once more caught by surprise, his mind racing to comprehend his current situation. Then he understood.

Dean Winchester was kissing him.

Dean quickly pulled back and stepped away, shaking his head and turning away, shoulders hunched and an uncomfortable look on his face. Castiel wondered if that meant that something had gone wrong, or if this was something that shouldn't have happened. Maybe the best course of action was to pretend that it hadn't happened, considering that Dean was already beginning to leave him. But that wasn't what Castiel wanted. And so he cleared his throat, and decided that he could at least ask.

"Do you think that we could do that again?" he asked, his voice only slightly hesitant. "I was too surprised to realize what was happening before, and I would like to be prepared this time."

That was evidently the right thing to say, because Dean's shoulders relaxed slightly, and he turned back to Castiel. "You want to?" he asked, sounding equally hesitant, and not at all like the man who knew how to kill every type of supernatural creature in existence.

"Very much," Castiel admitted.

Again, it seemed that he had chosen the right words. Or, at least, he chose words that made Dean close the distance between them and kiss him again, which made Castiel believe that they had been the perfect thing to say.

This time, he knew what was happening, and what to expect, so he could truly pay attention to what was happening. The kiss itself was not a surprise.

What was a surprise, though, was how much Castiel enjoyed it.

There had been a time during the week where they didn't hunt when Dean had decided to introduce Castiel to his favorite TV show. It was called DR. Sexy, MD, and Castiel did not understand what the appeal was, but Dean continually insisted that it was the best show in the world, so Castiel had agreed to watch an episode, which had led to Castiel being stuck on the coach for five hours straight, as Dean continued to insist that the next episode would be the one that convinced Castiel that this was a good show, and then the next one, and then the next.

Castiel had never enjoyed the plots, not even the ones that weren't so convoluted that they made no sense. But there was one aspect of the show that he'd discovered that he enjoyed, even though he had never said so out loud.

Every single episode had at least one scene where Dr. Sexy kissed someone. And not small kisses, either. Very dramatic, almost sloppy kissing, usually with a nurse who ended up backed against the wall by the end of it. Dean had called it making out, and somewhere around the fifth "making out" that Castiel had watched, his mind had begun to wander, and he had found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss Dean this way.

He hadn't said anything, of course, as it had seemed awkward to say something about it. Castiel had minimal social skills, but even he had picked up on the fact that kissing was something important – though Dr. Sexy didn't seem to think so, considering the number of people that he kissed. Even so, Castiel had still been completely aware that Dean might make him leave at any time, and decided that asking Dean to kiss him would be a horrible idea, and likely just make things uncomfortable.

But at the end of those five hours, when Dean asked what he thought of the show, Castiel had been truthful when he said that he had enjoyed himself. And he had continued to think about Dean and kissing, and what it would be like.

Now, he knew. And it was much, much better than his imagination had made it seem.

* * *

><p>Sometime later, Castiel found himself lying back on the bed, with Dean beside him. Castiel's wounds were beginning to ache from the exertion, but he hadn't harmed any of his stitches, nor reopened his unstitched wound, so it was remarkably easy to ignore the pain. In all honesty, it hardly bothered him. Though he was grateful that he had never gotten around to putting on a shirt, both because it meant that there was no fabric to rub against his bandages, and for other reasons.<p>

Dean, though, seemed more concerned about them than Castiel was. "We gotta be careful," he murmured against Castiel's mouth, and moved one hand up to touch the side of his bandages lightly. "Don't do that much."

Castiel nodded in agreement, then asked, "Can we do more?"

"Yeah," Dean said, and kissed him again. "You want to?"

"Yeah."

Castiel wasn't sure what more there was to do. He knew the word sex, of course, but he wasn't entirely positive of what it entailed, as he had never had reason before to weak out that information.

It was alright, though. He was fairly certain that Dean would be willing to teach him.

* * *

><p>Sam returned a few hours later.<p>

"Hey," he called as he opened the door. "Figured that I wouldn't be able to get away with stealing the Impala for much longer, so I'm-"

He paused, staring at the bed. Dean and Castiel were both dressed by this point, which was lucky timing – they had only gotten out of the bed about fifteen minutes before Sam's return. However, the bed was still a mess, the blankets scattered every which way, some of them tossed onto the floor, where they were joined by random articles of Dean and Castiel's clothing. Considering that Sam seemed to be very observant, Castiel thought that it wouldn't be a surprise if Sam could figure out what had happened, and immediately looked over to Dean to see what his reaction would be.

Dean stiffened, his whole body going tense, and he rubbed one hand through his hair. "Thanks," he said, awkwardly. "I'm getting a little stir crazy just staying in the motel room, to be honest."

"Really?" Sam asked, his face completely blank. "Because it looked like you found something to do."

"Shut up," Dean mumbled.

Sam snorted then, a small smile appearing on his face. "Geez, Dean, never thought I'd see the day when you had sex and then didn't immediately come brag to be about it," he said, then added, "It's about noon. Want to go head somewhere for lunch? There's a place just down the street that looks good."

"Uh, yeah," Dean said quickly. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Cool," Sam said. He took a few steps into the room, just far enough that he could grab his duffel bag out of the corner, then turned and left. "And no offense, but I'm going to wait for you outside. And I'm getting my own room."

Castiel hurried to say, "I don't wish to force you out of the room-"

Sam just smiled, though, which reassured Castiel immensely. "Yeah, thanks, but I think that we'd all be happier if you two get to have a room to yourselves," he said, then added, "Don't take too long getting ready, okay? I'm starving." Then he left.

Castiel slowly turned back to Dean, who looked as if he had relaxed immensely, though he was strangely silent. Castiel took a hesitant step forward, and laid a hand on the side of Dean's arm. Despite what they had done earlier that day, part of him still wondered if this was acceptable behavior or not, or if he was pushing things too far. "Is this okay?" he asked, and wasn't quite sure what he would say if Dean told him no.

Dean took a deep breath, though, and after a minute, he smiled. The smile looked the slightest bit tight, just a little too bright to be real, but it still made Castiel feel better, regardless, even if part of him worried about why it wasn't completely genuine.

"Yeah, this is good," he said, and reached down to give Castiel's hand a brief squeeze, before going over to retrieve his cell phone and wallet from the pants that had been discarded to the ground earlier. "Come on, Sam will whine like a little bitch if we make him wait any longer," he said, then gestured for Castiel to follow him out of the motel room.

There was still something not quite right about Dean's behavior, Castiel was sure of it. But for now, he decided not to question it. Later, he decided. He would bring it up later, if he needed to. For now, though, he wanted to simply enjoy this new development, and not think about whatever it was that made Dean's smile turn to a frown the moment that he thought that Castiel wasn't looking.


	15. Part 1, Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

Sam looked undeniably happy as they drove to the nearest restaurant. He had a smile on his face, and kept glancing back and forth between Dean and Castiel, looking pleased. It was almost enough to make up for the fact that Dean didn't look nearly as happy.

If Sam had noticed how quiet Dean was, or that the look on his face was something akin to worry, it didn't appear to bother him. Even so, none of them said a word during the drive.

It was only once they were finally seated at the restaurant and had placed their orders that Sam looked across the table at the two of them, then said, "So, you two finally got your heads out of your asses?"

Dean scowled, and shifted in his seat. "I don't know what you mean," he said stiffly, reaching forward to take a long sip of his coke.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on," he said. "Don't even pretend that I don't know what you two were up to while I was gone." Then he shrugged, and added, "It's not like it's a big deal, you know."

"Obviously," Dean said. He wasn't looking at Sam, or at Castiel.

Castiel frowned. "Are you alright?" he asked carefully, reaching over to place a hand on the top of Dean's thigh.

Castiel understood the concept of personal space well enough to know that there were certain places where one could touch, and areas where it wasn't allowed. But he had thought that he and Dean had removed those barriers – or, at least, Dean hadn't seemed to have any complaints about where Castiel had been touching earlier. Now, though, he reached down and moved Castiel's hand away.

"I'm fine," he said. "Jesus, Jimmy, you're the one with the knife wounds, you should be worrying about yourself." He shook his head. "You two are acting like the world just fucking exploded or something."

Sam raised one eyebrow. "No," he said. "Pretty sure that I'd be freaking out a whole lot more if that was the case." It was true; Sam did appear completely calm about this new development, as though it hadn't been a surprise to him at all, even though Castiel himself hadn't expected it.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Point is, you're acting like this is some big deal," he said. "It isn't. Nothing happened."

Castiel wanted to argue that, but he paused, unsure of what to say. It was clear that something had happened between the two of them – at least, Castiel definitely counted the kissing as "something". But then, it wasn't as though Dean had simply forgotten about it, so pointing that out wouldn't do any good. But Castiel didn't know what else he could say.

"Yeah?" Sam asked. "So you two aren't dating, then?"

Sam had clearly meant that question as rhetorical – Castiel was getting somewhat better at telling the difference now – but Dean answered, regardless. "No," he said, firm enough that it left no room for doubts. "We're not."

The happy look slid off of Sam's face, replaced with a frown. That clearly hadn't been what he had expected to hear.

Castiel found that he couldn't bring himself to look at either brother, and instead stared intently at the straw wrapper on the table in front of him. He could feel Sam's eyes on him, looking as though he didn't know what to say any more than Castiel did.

"I'm gonna hit the bathroom quick," Dean said, and quickly slid out of the booth. Castiel couldn't tell if he truly needed to use the bathroom, or if he was simply making an excuse. Either way, it didn't take long for him to walk away.

"Jimmy," Sam began, then paused.

Castiel shook his head. "It's alright," he said, making his voice firm, so that it would seem believable. "I will talk to him, figure out what's wrong." Sam looked unsure, but Castiel simply repeated, even firmer this time, "It's alright." After all, he knew Dean well enough to know that he wouldn't appreciate having Sam interfere. And more than that, Castiel also felt as though he wished to handle this by himself, without interference from Sam. This was a problem between the two of them, after all. He did not need Sam to deal with it for him.

Slowly, Sam leaned back in his seat, and then nodded. "Okay," he said. "You two talk it out."

Castiel swallowed. "We will," he promised.

* * *

><p>Castiel and Dean never talked. Or, specifically, Dean never talked to Castiel.<p>

It had been three days since he and Dean had kissed. The wounds on Castiel's chest were healing well, and though they still caused him pain, he was able to do most regular tasks – admittedly, he was still very careful about how he went about them.

Dean was still checking the wounds every day. Castiel didn't think that this was strictly necessary – he could tell that the wounds were healing well, and that there didn't appear to be any problems. Dean insisted, though, and so Castiel didn't argue, even if Dean's assessment was nothing that Castiel didn't already know.

So he supposed that he had been exaggerating when he said that he and Dean never spoke. Dean spoke to him sometimes, asking if he was hungry, or commenting on how the wounds were healing, even suggesting movies or TV shows for Castiel to watch during the day, when there was little else to do. But he said nothing important – and specifically, he never mentioned the kiss again.

Castiel tried. The afternoon after the conversation in the restaurant, Castiel slowly looked Dean in the eyes. Dean didn't appear to notice – he was inspecting the stitches on Castiel's shoulder, a look of concentration on his face. But Castiel didn't look away, and as soon as it looked as though Dean were done, he asked, "Are you certain that you're okay?"

Dean looked up, and Castiel could tell that he didn't understand. "Shouldn't you be asking that about yourself?" he asked, then shook his head and gestured for Castiel to button up his shirt again. "Yeah, you're fine. No sign of any infection or anything, so that's awesome. I was worried about that, since psycho killers aren't exactly known for cleaning off their weapons, but I'm hoping that you're in the clear."

"Good," Castiel said simply. "But that's not what I'm asking." Dean frowned then, and Castiel waited until Dean faced him, then said, "We kissed yesterday. I had thought that it meant something, so I was surprised when you said-"

Dean didn't allow him to finish. He was already starting to stand, turning his back on Castiel. "I'm going to head out for a bit," he said, instead of answering the question, or even acknowledging its existence. "I'll be back late, so you and Sam don't mind calling to order something for dinner, right?"

"Dean," Castiel said, also standing and following a few steps behind him. "I know that you don't wish to have this conversation, but this is important. At the very least, you must speak to me about this."

"I'll see you later, Jimmy," Dean said, giving Castiel a wave over his shoulder, and then allowed the motel door to slam shut behind him.

* * *

><p>All of his conversations with Dean ended in that manner, with Dean leaning, or finding some way to end the conversation before Castiel was able to say anything important.<p>

Castiel didn't understand it. He had seen enough television to know that kissing was typically associated with romantic attraction. And yes, he also knew that that wasn't always the case – he had seen a few different types of shows, after all, and Dr. Sexy never seemed to feel love toward any of his kissing partners. Maybe Castiel had misinterpreted Dean's actions, and thought that they meant more than Dean had wanted them to. After all, he knew well enough that he wouldn't be the first person that Dean made sexual advances toward, and then didn't speak to again.

But Castiel couldn't forget the look in Dean's eyes when they'd been lying in bed together, as though he were memorizing all of his features, every inch of his skin. And he remembered the way that Dean's voice had cracked when he'd been talking about believing that Castiel had been dead.

He had thought that those things had made him different than the others that Dean had had sex with in the past. Now, he was simply confused.

It was four days after the kiss when Castiel finally decided that he and Dean were going to talk, and that he wasn't going to let anything stop him.

Dean was once again checking Castiel's wounds when Castiel decided that they would have this conversation. It was the only time that he could guarantee that Dean would be there. Dean had been spending more and more time away from the motel, going to unknown places and only returning late at night, if at all. Castiel also knew that Dean had been spending half of the nights sleeping in Sam's motel room, even if Sam looked as though he didn't approve, and seemed to spend quite a lot of time lately with his arms crossed, giving Dean a disapproving look that Dean never paid any attention to.

He always showed up to check Castiel's wounds, though, even if he left immediately after.

The two of them were sitting on the bed together, with Castiel's legs stretched out in front of him. He was leaning back against the headboard, while Dean sat beside him on the edge of the bed, head turned to look at the wound in his shoulder.

"Yeah," Dean said now, and nodded his head, already turning away. "It's gonna be another few days before we want to remove them – and trust me, that's not exactly going to be a picnic, either. But other than that, yeah, you're good."

He was already beginning to stand up and walk away, but Castiel shifted positions, leaning forward and closing his hand around Dean's wrist, holding tight enough that Dean would not easily pull himself free.

Dean looked like he was going to try, but then his eyes flickered toward Castiel's shoulder – Castiel had grabbed him with his injured arm, intentionally – and he made no attempts at getting away. He didn't seem to want to risk pulling any of the stitches, as Castiel had hoped. Instead, he just snapped, "What are you doing?"

"I need you to explain your behavior to me," Castiel said, as firmly as he could.

"I don't know what you mean," Dean said. That had been a common line over the past few days, and by now, Castiel had heard it often enough to know that it couldn't possibly be true.

Castiel just tightened his hand around Dean's wrist, and said firmly, "We kissed, and performed sexual acts. I can understand if there was a misunderstanding about what this meant, and if you don't wish for the two of us to have a relationship. But at the very least, I need to be able to talk about what has been happening."

For a second, Dean looked like he was going to protest. Then he sighed, and his shoulders slumped slightly. "Fine," he said. "Go ahead. Talk."

Castiel blinked. Honestly, he had expected more of an argument from Dean. And now that he knew that he was going to be able to speak, he wasn't entirely sure what to say.

Dean tugged his arm lightly, trying to pull it from Castiel's hand. Castiel let go. He didn't think that Dean would walk away now. And Dean didn't, though he did place his hands in his lap and scoot further down the bed, out of Castiel's reach.

Despite all of the times that Dean had walked away from him before, seeing him move away hurt more than Castiel would have thought that it would, and suddenly, he knew what he wanted to say. "You and Sam are the only family that I have." It was true. Maybe he had other family out there, but he didn't know if he would find them any time soon. And even if he did, he couldn't imagine caring about other family in the same way that he cared for Sam and Dean. "I care about you deeply, Dean, and I don't want anything to harm our relationship. If you don't wish to have a sexual relationship with me, then I will understand, but please don't refuse to speak with me."

He would be disappointed. He had enjoyed the things that he and Dean had done together, and he got the impression that there was more that Dean could show him, and whatever they were, he very much wanted to try them. But more than that, he wanted the feeling that he had had when he and Dean had kissed, as though Dean valued him in the same way that Castiel valued Dean. The thought almost made him angry, because Dean should have known better than to act as though he felt that way when he had no intention of continuing a relationship.

But he would accept it, if this was really the case. What he wouldn't accept was the way that Dean was currently treating him.

"It isn't like that," Dean protested, and let out a long breath. "Look, man, I'm not doing this to try to hurt you or anything like that. It's just, starting a thing between us isn't a good idea, okay? You get that, right?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "No," he said. "No, I don't get why it would be such a bad thing. I was happy, and you looked as though you were, too. So tell me, why shouldn't this continue?"

Dean's eyes also narrowed. "Because it ain't gonna work out," he said. "I'm being smart here, alright? Trust me, you're not going to want to do this, and I'm just trying to save us both the trouble."

Castiel frowned, and moved himself forward, closer to Dean. Dean did not move away, and Castiel believed that that was a good sign, even if Dean still wasn't looking at him. Still, though, when Castiel spoke, his voice was hard. "You can say that you aren't going to want to be in a relationship with me, and I will accept that," he said, "but you aren't allowed to pretend that you are making a decision for my sake. If you chose not to be in a relationship, at least tell me so straight out."

"You don't understand," Dean said, and he was on his feet, turning around and finally meeting Castiel's eyes. "It's not that I don't want to, dude, it's that we fucking _shouldn't_."

Castiel remained seated, tilting his head back to continue looking at Dean. He tilted his head, considering that. "Does it have anything to do with Sam?" Castiel finally asked. "You seemed fine until the moment that he entered the motel room. Did you… not want Sam to know what we had done?" He couldn't think of any reason why that would be the case, but it was the only explanation that he could think of.

Dean blinked, and for a second, he looked honestly surprised at Castiel's question. So that hadn't been it, then. "No," Dean said after a minute. He shifted awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck, then added, "I mean, it's kinda weird. I hadn't exactly… come out, or whatever. But he was, well, I knew that he knew, and-" Dean's voice broke off, and he shook his head. "Shit," he muttered, then finally said, "It's not like me liking guys is some secret, okay? That's not the problem."

Castiel nodded. Dean looked honest, and he didn't have any reason not to believe him. "Then, what is the problem?" he asked. "And why did you suddenly look so upset when he walked in?"

Dean's face darkened, and his eyes flickered to the floor, as if he couldn't make himself keep looking at Castiel. "He reminded me of something else, okay? Something that happened, and it's the real reason this isn't going to work out, okay? Is that good enough for you?"

"No," Castiel said immediately. "Tell me what this other reason is."

Now, Dean didn't even hesitate. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Forget I said anything about it, okay? Just forget that any of this ever happened, and believe me when I say I'm trying to be the good guy here."

He walked away before Castiel could collect his thoughts enough to respond. Castiel thought that if he stood and went after him, he could make Dean stop, and force this conversation to continue. He didn't, though. There likely wouldn't be a point. He could already tell that Dean intended on saying nothing more.

The door swung closed – Dean was leaving in the Impala, his default response during the past four days. It left Castiel alone, still sitting on the bed, trying to figure out what Dean could have possibly been talking about. And the only solution that he could reach was that Dean had been lying.

Specifically, that Dean had been lying about wanting to continue this relationship, and that he was only refusing to do so for Castiel's sake. After all, Castiel had told him that he didn't want Dean to do that, and it hadn't changed Dean's mind. Clearly there had to be some other reason for his behavior, then.

Although, choosing to disregard Castiel's wishes because he believed that he knew better was something that he believed Dean capable of, if he had gotten it in his head that he was doing the right thing. Maybe that was the reason, after all. Castiel didn't know, and by now, it had almost stopped mattering to him. All he knew was that Dean, for whatever reason, had decided that this relationship wasn't going to happen, and Castiel was not going to try to change that if Dean had made up his mind.

He went to bed early that night, very deliberately choosing not to wait up for when Dean returned that night. After all, there was no guarantee that he would come back here, instead of choosing to sleep on the couch in Sam's room. And even if he did come back – well, that wouldn't matter. They could talk, but for what? Dean's decision had been made.

Castiel tried very hard not to feel angry about that. It didn't work terribly well, but he tried his best.

When he woke the next morning, though, it was immediately obvious that Dean had slept here the night before. The second bed was messy, more so than it had been the night before. One of the chairs had been moved. A paper bag sat on the table, and Castiel could smell fresh-brewed coffee.

And there was a new trench coat laying at the foot of his bed.

Castiel sat up slowly, and reached down to look at it. It didn't look exactly the same as the one that had been ruined when Felicity stabbed him, but the design was similar, and it looked to be the same size. Castiel was certain that it would fit him well enough, and it had the same hidden pockets that made attracted him to the previous coat, even if they were located in different places.

Castiel looked around the motel room. The coat could have only been a gift from Dean, though Castiel could tell at once that Dean had already left the motel. Still, though, he must have gone shopping specifically to find this coat, and possibly returned to the motel just so that he could leave it here.

It was a nice gesture, and a wonderful gift – possibly the best that Castiel had ever received. And he had absolutely no idea what it was supposed to mean, or if it even meant anything at all.

* * *

><p>"I don't understand," Castiel said, frowning at the phone he held in one hand, then glancing over at Sam. "You're going to have to explain it to me."<p>

It had been five days since Castiel's failed conversation with Dean, and he was currently sitting on the couch in Sam's motel room. He had been spending quite a lot of time here, since Dean still was not saying anything of importance to Castiel, and the small talk that Dean did try to make when they ran into each other was uncomfortable at best. Part of Castiel almost didn't mind; he enjoyed spending time with Sam, and it was clear that Sam enjoyed his presence as well.

Or, he pretended that he didn't mind. He couldn't help but miss spending time with Dean, even if it wasn't in a romantic way. Still, though, the time with Sam was nice, so that was what he endeavored to remind himself of.

Sam shook his head, though he was also smiling. "It's really not that difficult," he said. "Just push that button there."

Sam pointed to the one that he meant, and Castiel continued to frown, but did so. The screen changed into a list of names.

"See?" Sam said, and took the phone from Castiel's hands, though he continued to hold it out so that Castiel could see what he was doing. "You use these buttons to scroll to the name that you want, and then this-" Sam moved so that his own name was highlighted, and then pressed another button – "is how you call."

Castiel waited, and sure enough, after another moment he heard Sam's cell phone begin to ring.

"Thank you," Castiel said, taking the phone from Sam again. "Really, thank you."

Sam shrugged. "Only makes sense, doesn't it?" he said. "You're going to need a phone of your own, just in case." He paused for just a second, then added casually, "You know, it was Dean's idea to get you one."

Castiel stiffened, and he wasn't in the mood to discuss Dean at that moment, so he quickly began looking through the list of names. Sam and Dean were there three times each, for all of their different phones. And Castiel recognized the names Ellen and Ash, and even John Winchester. But the rest were unfamiliar to him. "Who are these people?" he asked, glancing at Sam.

"Hunting contacts we know," Sam said, and shrugged again. "They'll give you someone else to call if there's ever an emergency and you can't reach Dean or I. Start with Bobby if you're even in trouble." Castiel scrolled up the list, until he found the name Bobby Singer near the top. "There were times when Dean and I practically lived with him growing up. He'll help you if you need it."

Castiel nodded. "Thank you," he said, and slid the phone into his pocket. He was wearing the trench coat that Dean had given him, which felt somewhat odd, considering the fact that things between him and Dean were still so strained. He had to admit that it looked nice, though. He thought that he might like it better than the first one, which was equal parts nice and infuriating, because he didn't want to enjoy Dean's gift so much when he was still angry.

Sam was watching him with an odd expression on his face. "Listen," he said after a minute. "I'm not going to pry into what's going on with you and Dean if you don't want me to-"

"Thank you," Castiel said.

"-but I can tell that my brother's being an idiot," Sam finished. "He'll get over it, okay?"

Castiel grimaced. "Thank you," he repeated, "but I don't think that-"

He had meant to say that he doubted that Dean's decision was ever going to change, but he didn't get the chance to finish, because right then, Dean used his key to open the motel door and walk in. He had a piece of paper in one hand, his phone in the other, and as he kicked the door shut, he also snapped his phone closed and tucked it back into his pocket.

"Just got off the phone with Ash," Dean said, as though he had no idea that he was interrupting their conversation, or else didn't care. "He's finally managing to make some progress with the list of Azazel's kids or whatever." He dropped onto the end of Sam's bed, and added, "And by that, he means that he's found about a dozen kids whose moms were killed in a fire when they were six months old, along with-" he checked the paper in his hand "-eight kids who had their dad die, one kid who lost his stepmother, and another one whose grandmother burned." Dean glanced up. "They were all born in 1983, so we were right about that connection. Ash thinks that there might be more, so he's started some program to look for demon omens that cropped up that year, even in places that didn't have fires."

"Let me see," Sam said, jumping up off the couch to snatch the paper out of Dean's hand. Castiel followed, and peered at the paper as well. It was difficult to read Dean's handwriting, but even so, he could tell that it was a list of roughly two dozen names, with Sam's written at the top. Beside all of the names were the date when the fire had occurred, and one name was marked by a dark asterisk.

"What does this mean?" Sam asked, holding the paper back out toward Dean and pointing toward it.

Dean didn't even seem to have to look at the paper to know what Sam meant. He frowned, his face grim. "That girl's missing."

Castiel's mouth felt dry. "Missing?"

Dean nodded, and from the look on his face, he didn't feel much better. "Yeah," he said, only glancing at Castiel for a moment before returning his focus to Sam. "Ash says that she vanished about a month ago. No sign of a forced entry, nothing to make anyone think that she was going to run off – just, gone." He shrugged. "Probably nothing. I mean, with twenty names, at least one of them was bound to do some weird shit. No reason to think it means anything."

Still, though, his eyes didn't leave Sam's face, and Castiel could tell that he was worried.

Sam took a deep breath, and nodded. "I'll do some research," he said, "see what I can find."

"Great," Dean said, grimacing slightly. "More research. That's just what I want to do."

"You would rather go out and hunt something?" Castiel asked.

"Fuck yes," Dean said, shaking his head like the answer was obvious. And it had been, given Dean's personality. Castiel would have been shocked by any other answer.

Castiel hesitated for a moment, then said, "I agree. I think that we should be hunting again." Actually, he was surprised that they had not already taken a case. After all, Sam had hunted the day after he had been bitten by the Vetala. Granted, Sam had far more experience with compensating for injuries than Castiel did, and part of him was grateful that the Winchesters had given him more time to heal. Still, though, the stitches had been removed from the wound yesterday, and though his shoulder and chest were both still somewhat tender, he was more than ready to begin a new hunt.

"Maybe you could find some new case for us to take?" Castiel suggested, turning to Sam. At the very least, perhaps things with Dean would become less awkward once they were doing something besides staying in the same motel for more than a week.

Or maybe the long rides in the car were going to make things worse than they were now, since neither one of them would be able to leave the other's presence. Castiel had to admit that that was a distinct possibility. But it would be worth it to be doing something again.

Sam frowned, then said, "I did see a story this morning about a hiker getting murdered. I wasn't going to mention it, but if we want to start a new hunt-"

"Yes," Dean said, standing and heading for the door. "I'm going to go pack my stuff."

"You don't even know what the case is," Sam said.

Dean snorted. "And I don't care," he said. "So long as we're out there doing something, I'm happy."

Castiel felt much the same way, so he said, "If you believe that this death was related to something supernatural, then we should take the case."

Sam glanced between Castiel and Dean, and then slowly, he nodded. "Okay," he said, turning and started shoving clothes into his own duffel. "In that case, let's get going. We're going to have a long drive ahead of us."


	16. Part 1, Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

The forest was wet. The dampness that covered the grass was seeping through Castiel's shoes, and he found himself thinking that he did not like having to hike over half a mile toward where the hiker's body had been discovered – though, to be fair, he was certain that the hiker had enjoyed being murdered far less.

"Never had a problem with any kind of wild animal before," the park ranger was saying as she led the way toward where the first body had been found. It had long since been transported to the morgue, but they had insisted that they still wanted to see the sight of the attack, of course. "We've gone thirteen years without a single attack, and even then, the last attack just led to a guy needed a sling and a couple stitches. Don't even remember the last time we've had a death in these woods."

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure that we'll get to the bottom of it," Sam assured her with a smile.

She smiled back. "Hope so," she said, then gestured to a small clearing directly in front of them. "The body was found in there," she said, then added, "I'll let you three take a look around. Let me know when you're ready to head the sight of the next attack."

"We will," Sam said. "Thank you."

Castiel wondered if he should thank the woman as well – she had been incredibly helpful, even agreeing to spend her day off hiking through the woods in order to help them solve the crime. Dean, though, simply pushed through the foliage without a word, and after a single second of hesitation, Castiel followed directly behind him, trying to keep as close as possible.

He still was not certain why Dean's behavior had changed so drastically, but he was determined to figure it out.

It was obvious that the clearing had been the scene of something violent not that long ago. The trees were covered in long, parallel scratch marks, and splashes of blood still stained the ground in certain places. Castiel took careful steps, trying to get the best look of the scene as he could without running the risk of contaminating the evidence.

"Look over here," Dean suddenly said, and Sam and Castiel hurried over to where he was crouching. "These don't look like any animal footprints I've ever seen."

Castiel looked, and sure enough, the train had clearly been made by a human of some sort. And likely a small one, considering the size of the prints. "Perhaps our victim came this way?" he asked.

Sam shook his head immediately. "The guy was six-foot-five and over two hundred pounds," he said. "No way his feet could be so small. I'd say we're looking for a woman, or else a man with small feet."

Dean snorted. "Poor guy," he said, turning to grin up at Sam, adding, "Since, you know what they say about foot size and all."

Sam glared at Dean, clearly not amused. Dean rolled his eyes but didn't say anything more about the size of the person's feet. Instead, he said, "The dude was apparently hiking all by himself, and no witness has stepped forward, so I'd say that these probably belong to the attacker. Werewolf?"

"Could be," Sam said. "The missing heart certainly fits."

"Awesome," Dean said, and nodded. "I'm going to go take a look at the trail, see where it leads. You keep looking around for anything else that could help us."

"I will accompany you," Castiel said at once, taking a step closer to Dean. "It may be dangerous to investigate alone."

Dean stiffened, and didn't look over at him. "If it is a werewolf, then they're harmless during the day," he said.

"And if it's not a werewolf?" Castiel asked, because after all, that wasn't a certainty.

Dean just shrugged. "Then I guess I go figure that out," he said, and turned and headed off without saying anything more.

Castiel thought about going after him, but he was certain that Dean would not appreciate that in the slightest. So instead, he turned back to look at the crime scene, doing his best to ignore the fact that Sam was watching him with a worried expression.

"Are there any other signs of a werewolf attack that we should be looking for?" Castiel asked, taking a step toward one of the blood stains and squinting down at it, to ensure that there was nothing unusual about it. There didn't appear to be anything, and he stepped toward a second stain, giving it the same investigation.

"Nothing in particular," he said. "We'll probably have a better idea once we head down to the morgue and take a look at the-"

Sam's voice abruptly cut off, and a second later, he cried out with what sounded like pain.

Castiel snapped his head up, just in time to see Sam stagger and fall to his knees, clutching at his forehead. Castiel ran to his side and also dropped to his knees beside Sam, his hands hovering above Sam's back, unsure of what he should do, whether he should stay here with Sam or if he should go find Dean.

The decision was made for him an instant later. The park ranger pushed her way through the brush, a worried look on her face. And Castiel was just about to send her after Dean, when Dean burst into the clearing, a panicked expression on his face. "Sam," he shouted, and dropped onto Sam's other side, reaching out to grab Sam and hold him tight as Sam let out another shout.

Then, suddenly, it was over. Sam's hands twisted in his hair, still holding tight to his head, but his eyes opened. He was out of breath, panting hard as if he had just gotten through one of the morning jogs that he liked to take, but Castiel couldn't hear any pain in the sound.

"I'm alright," Sam said, and reached out to squeeze Dean's arm, hard. "It's over," he promised. Dean still looked worried, but he nodded.

"But what happened?" Castiel asked, and he was fairly certain that his voice shook more than Sam's did, which was fairly embarrassing. But then, it had frightened him severely to see his friend collapse like that, so perhaps it was excusable. Especially since Dean seemed to be just as shaken as Castiel felt.

Sam looked over at Castiel, then glanced at the park ranger. "It was nothing," he said. "Just... something that happens sometime."

That was obviously untrue, and Castiel would have protested, but then Sam tilted his head toward the park ranger in a fairly obvious fashion, and Castiel understood. At least, he realized that he shouldn't speak in front of her, and that it would have to wait until they were alone.

Sam climbed to his feet, already looking fully recovered, which was reassuring. But he turned toward the park ranger and said, "Sorry, but I think we need to head back to the car now. Do you think you could lead the way?"

"I-" the ranger stammered. She looked just as shaken as any of them, like she didn't know what she was supposed to do or say. But after a moment, she nodded. "Of course. It's right this way."

"Thank you," Sam said, and took off. And for all that he had talked about needing the ranger to show them where to go, he didn't seem to have a problem with taking the lead as they set off into the woods, with the other three scrambling to keep up with him before he left them behind completely.

* * *

><p>They arrived back at the car in record time, mostly due to the fast pace that Sam insisted on setting. Nobody said a word until the three of them were settled into the Impala, at which point Castiel leaned forward to stick his head between the driver and the passenger's seats, then demanded, "What happened back there?"<p>

Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead, which made Castiel worry for a second that the pain was returning. But no, Sam appeared to be more worried than in pain. "It's a long story," he said.

Castiel merely waited, and sure enough, after a moment Sam sighed and said, "Sometimes I have visions."

Castiel frowned. "What?"

"You know how I mentioned that the demon – Azazel – seemed to be collecting children for some reason?" Sam said slowly. "I've only met one other child, so I can't say for sure, but I think that we all have powers of some sort."

"Powers," Castiel repeated. "What type of powers?"

"Well, the other guy was telekinetic – had the ability to move things with his mind," Sam said slowly. "With me, it's the visions. I see something happen before it actually does." He paused, then said, "Usually, I see people die."

Castiel wasn't entirely sure what the proper reaction to that was, so he remained silent for the moment. Then something occurred to him. Seeing visions and hearing voices weren't so different, after all. But wait-

"You said that all of the children that Azazel is collecting are twenty-three years old, correct?" Castiel asked.

"What?" Sam asked, looking as though that wasn't the question that he had expected to be asked. But he nodded. "Uh, yeah, it looks like all of them are, at least."

Huh. In that case, then Castiel found it highly unlikely that the voices that he used to hear had been connected to Azazel, though he supposed that might have explained why the voices spoke of Azazel so often. But even if the driver's license had had the wrong age, there was quite a large difference between thirty-two and twenty-three, so it seemed unlikely that he was connected to Azazel's children.

Which meant that he was still left with no explanation as to what had caused the voices. He pushed that thought away for now and returned his focus to Sam.

"What'd you see this time?" Dean asked.

Sam winced and rubbed his temples with his first two fingers. "Murder-suicide, I think," he said slowly. "But not a normal one. Guy just walked into a gun store, calmly loads a gun, tells everyone that it's going to be okay, then kills a worker and offs himself."

"Huh," Dean said. "Okay, that's odd."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, his voice tight. "It's okay, though. We've still got time."

Dean held up one hand, which didn't do any good, considering that Sam's eyes were still closed. But then Dean snapped, "Woah, woah, what do you mean we've got time?" That made Sam open his eyes and turn to Dean incredulously.

"Time to stop this," he said. "Dean, someone's going to die today, we've got to at least do something."

Castiel thought that that was a fair point. Dean, though, shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I don't think that we should get involved in this demon crap."

"Get involved?" Sam repeated. "Dean, we're already involved. Now we've got to figure out what's actually going on."

"It sounds dangerous," Dean said.

Sam just snorted. "And staying here to kill a werewolf isn't?" he asked.

"See?" Dean suddenly said, perking up now and looking like Sam had just said something perfect. "We've got bodies piling up here, who's going to keep more people from getting killed if we go running off chasing your visions?"

Sam was silent for a moment. Then, "Fine," he said. Castiel turned to him, surprised that he was giving up so soon, only to see that Sam was reaching for his cell phone. "I'll call Bobby to come work this case."

"No way-" Dean started to protest.

Sam turned and just gave him a look, but it was enough to make Dean stop talking at once. "Dean, we need to figure out what's going on," he said firmly, then sighed and added, "We don't know what the hell is up with me, man, and we've got to figure it out, otherwise who knows what's going to happen?" He paused, then added, "Come on, Dean, we've got to go figure this out. At the very least, we've gotta know what we're up against."

Dean scowled, but he nodded once. "Fine," he said, and turned the key in the ignition. The Impala roared to life, and Dean took off down the bumpy dirt road without another word.

* * *

><p>"No, Bobby, it's fine," Sam said as he paced back in forth in front of the motel room beds. Castiel glanced up as he finished packing the last of Dean's clothing. Dean and Sam had both gotten on their phones the moment that they had arrived at the motel, leaving Castiel to be the one to pack up everyone's belongs. It was a simple task, though, considering that they'd only stopped off in the motel room long enough to change into their FBI outfits earlier.<p>

"Another case came up, so if you could-" Sam continued, then broke off, listening to something that Bobby said on the other end. "We don't actually know yet, we-" He sighed and shook his head, then turned to look at Dean, who was sitting at the table on the other side of the room. Pressing the phone against his chest for a moment, he called, "Hey, do you know where we're going yet?"

"Ash is working on it," Dean called back, not bothering to lower his cell phone or move it away from his mouth at all. "I'll let you know when- Wait a minute." He paused, listening, then added, "Okay, Ash's gotten it now. We're headed to Guthrie, Oklahoma."

"Have Ash check for demon omens. Both now and in 1983," Sam called back, before returning the phone to his ear. "Guthrie, Oklahoma. We're only a couple hours away, it'll be- It's kind of a long story, Bobby, but we've really got to work this one ourselves. Do you think you can make it up here to take care of the werewolves? Okay, thanks, Bobby. I'll let you know when we've gotten this thing more figured out."

"Cool. Awesome, Ash," Dean said at the same moment, and both brothers hung up their phones.

"Bobby's driving down here to handle the werewolf situation," Sam said as he slid his phone into his pocket. "Apparently he just finished up a salt-and-burn in Kansas, so it shouldn't take him too long to get here."

"And Ash says negative on the demon signs in Guthrie," Dean said. "But there is one kid, Andrew Gallagher. Mom died in a nursery fire when he was six months old. I'm guessing he's our guy."

"We know where to start, at least," Sam said, then glanced over at Castiel. "Are we ready to go?"

"The bags are all packed," Castiel confirmed, holding up Dean's duffle to prove it.

"Thanks," Sam said, absentmindedly grabbing his own duffel and headed out to the car. "Now let's go. We don't know when my vision's going to happen, and we might still be in time to stop it."

* * *

><p>They weren't in time to stop it.<p>

Ash had given them the address of the gun store from Sam's vision, and that was the first place that they headed. It was clear that they were slightly too late, though. They drove down the street just as they were carrying a sheet-covered body out on a stretcher.

"Shit," Sam said, low enough that Castiel could barely hear it.

"Come on," Dean said, pulling off into the closest parking lot, then backing out onto the street and heading back the way they'd come. "I saw a motel a couple blocks down. Let's head there first and then figure out where to go from here."

Nobody said anything the entire time that they were driving to the motel room. Dean's eyes were locked on the road, for once, and Sam leaned his head on his hand and stared out the window, completely silent. He sighed once, like he was thinking about the death, and Castiel hesitantly leaned forward and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder as Dean turned into the motel parking lot.

"It is not your fault that we did not make it in time," Castiel told him solemnly, as Sam glanced over at him. "You did your best."

The corner of Sam's mouth turned up into a smile, though it was obviously forced, and not even close to being reassuring. "Thanks," he said, then turned away, once again looking out the window. Then he suddenly sat up, his body stiffening as he stared at something. Castiel quickly glanced out his own window, but could see nothing unusual. Apparently Sam thought otherwise, though, because he said, "Hey, Dean, look."

Dean glanced over, then stared for a moment before turning his eyes to the front windshield again. "What the hell is he doing here?" he asked.

"Don't know," Sam said. Dean put the car into park, and Sam was already climbing out, with Castiel and Dean hurrying to follow suit. "Let's go find out."

There was a man standing over by the front lobby. Castiel assumed that that was who they were talking about, as there was no one else around. He was proved correct a moment later, when Dean called, "Hey. Bobby! What are you doing here?"

The man – Bobby – crossed his arms and glared at Sam and Dean like they were idiots. "There's something going on with you," he said. "Don't even try to pretend that there's not. And I figured that you weren't going to tell me about it, so I figured I'd better get my butt down here and figure it out for myself." Then he shrugged and added, "Besides, I've got something for the two of you that I'm sure you're gonna need, and this seemed like a good time to bring it to ya."

"Thanks," Sam said slowly, "but how did you find us?"

"I assumed that you nimrods would be here, since it's the closest motel to that suicide down the street," Bobby said. "That must be what you're here for, since everyone I've talked to has insisted that nothing weird has happened around here before that. Strange thing, though, it didn't happen 'til about twenty minutes ago, right about the same time I was rolling into town, so there's no way you could've known about it when you were calling me a couple hours ago."

Sam frowned, and ran one hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. "It's a long story," he said after a moment. "I can explain."

"Oh, you're gonna," Bobby said, then glanced over at Castiel for the first time. "And who's this?"

"My name is Jimmy Novak," Castiel said, instinctively repeating the name that Sam and Dean knew him as. It was strange how natural it felt now; if anything, the thought of introducing himself as Castiel felt a bit odd, even though he still felt that that name suited him better than Jimmy did, and even if he still referred to himself as Castiel in his own head. "I have been hunting with Sam and Dean for the past few weeks."

"He's a friend of Dean's, mostly," Sam interjected, causing Dean to scowl at him.

Castiel frowned. "I had thought that we could be considered friends as well," he said, feeling the slightest bit hurt.

"We are," Sam said quickly. "Just, a different type of friend."

Castiel thought about that, then nodded in agreement. He had never felt the slightest desire to kiss Sam, after all, so he supposed that their relationship was quite a bit different. Dean, meanwhile, looked as though he was going to kill Sam the first chance that he got.

"Right," Bobby said, looking from Castiel to Dean and then back again. "Well, nice to meet you, Jimmy," he said, holding out his hand.

"Likewise," Castiel said as he shook it.

Bobby nodded, then turned back to Sam and Dean. "Well, come on," he said, turning and heading off into the motel room like he was expecting them all to follow after him, which they immediately did. "Let's go get the rooms sorted out, and then you're going to tell me what exactly is going on."

"Good idea," Sam agreed, stepping up to walk beside him. "Mind if I room with you?"

"Why would you-" Bobby started to ask, then stopped and looked back at Castiel and Dean again. It appeared as though by now, Dean had stopped looking murderous and was simply doing his best to act as if this whole conversation wasn't happening. "Oh," Bobby said, then added, "Yeah, sounds like a good idea, boy."

Sam smirked back at Dean, looking as though he were quite obviously trying to tell Dean something. Whatever it was, Dean didn't seem to get the message. He was still steadfastly refusing to look at anyone as they walked into the motel.


	17. Part 1, Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16**

It wasn't until they were settled into one of the motel rooms – the one that Bobby and Sam were going to share, since it had two beds instead of just one, and that meant that there was more room for people to sit – that Bobby brought up the reason that they were here. "You knew something about that murder-suicide thing, didn't you," Bobby said, looking over at Sam from his seat in one of the chairs. "You knew there'd be a case here."

Slowly, Sam nodded.

"Yeah, speaking of cases," Dean suddenly interrupted, "weren't you supposed to be working ours? Who's gonna take care of that werewolf problem?"

"I got another kid to take care of it," Bobby said. "Name's Garth, and he's not the best hunter around, but he was in the area and he'll be fine as long as he remembers to stock up on silver bullets. And your avoiding the subject, boy," he added, then turned back to Sam. "How did you know about all of this?"

Sam bit his lip and didn't respond, looking as if he were trying to figure out what exactly he should say. Then, finally, he said, "Have you ever heard of a demon named Azazel?"

Bobby frowned. "Can't say that I have," he said after a moment. "Why? Is he somehow caught up in this mess?"

"He's the demon that killed our parents," Sam said, then pointed one thumb toward Castiel. "Jimmy knew the name. Apparently he'd helped our dad track the demon for a bit."

Castiel turned to Sam with a start, about to demand to know what made them think that. He stopped himself just in time, and then he remembered. Up until that exact moment, he had forgotten that he had allowed the Winchesters to believe that. That was probably something that he should clarify later, to ensure that they didn't continue to think the wrong thing about him, the fact that he had given them a fake name notwithstanding.

Nobody was paying Castiel any attention at the moment, though. Bobby let out a low whistle. "All these years and you finally have a name, then," he said. "Now, go on, what exactly is going on here?"

"We're not sure," Sam said slowly. "But Azazel... I think he did something to me."

"We don't know that," Dean snapped. He was over in the corner of the room, slouching in an overstuffed armchair with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Sam like he generally disagreed with this conversation as a whole.

"Well, what other explanation is there, Dean?" Sam practically snapped, though Castiel thought that he sounded more worried than anything else. Dean just muttered to himself and sunk lower in his seat, and Sam turned back to Bobby. "All we know is that there are other kids like me, who were all born in the same year, and whose moms were killed when they were exactly six months old." He paused, then took a deep breath, and said, "And we have powers."

"Powers," Bobby repeated.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I see things before they happen. Sometimes I get there in time to stop it. Other times, not."

Bobby just blinked at him and shook his head. "Powers," he repeated, then let out a low breath. "Damn, and I thought that I'd seen everything."

"Yeah, well, it's a crazy world," Dean said, then sat up and added, "All of the visions that Sam's had before have related to Azazel or one of his kiddies, so that's what we figure it going on. There's this guy, Andy Galagher. Works at the local diner, Ash said – or, he used to, anyway. We're thinking it's him."

"Or, at least, it's related somehow," Sam added.

Bobby nodded slowly, looking like he still didn't quite believe them. After a moment, though, he nodded and stood. "Well, okay, then," he said, and gestured toward the door. "Let's go talk to him, shall we? You three look like you're dressed well enough." Castiel glanced around. They hadn't taken the time to change out of the FBI clothes that they had worn earlier that day, so they did still look professional, if a bit rumpled. And Bobby was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, but that didn't seem to concern him, so he decided not to comment on that.

"Okay, good idea," Sam said, and Dean reluctantly got to his feet. "What's the plan? It's way too soon for the FBI to be showing up. Local PD?"

"I was thinking that Jimmy and I could just be a couple of regular Joes, see if we can get him talking without having to do a full-on interrogation," Bobby said. "Not like he's just going to casually mention that he uses his psychic powers to murder people or anything, but we might be able to figure something out. You two can come in and start asking official questions if you have to."

"Got it," Sam said with a nod.

"You think that Jimmy's the best one to help with that plan?" Dean asked. "He's not exactly the most subtle guy in the world. He's likely to just come out and straight up as the guy what his psychic powers are, completely blow your cover."

At once, everyone turned to look at Castiel, as if Sam and Bobby wanted to see how he would respond. For a moment, Castiel said nothing, just continued to sit on the edge of the bed, staring up at Dean. Seeing that Castiel had said nothing in his defense, Sam turned and began, "Dean, don't you think-?"

Castiel cut him off. "You think that I cannot handle this investigation," Castiel said in a low voice, standing and turning so that he was staring hard at Dean, their eyes now nearly on the same level. "You never had this problem when I was saving either of your lives."

Dean shook his head. "Look, nobody's arguing that when you've got a blade in your hand, you're pretty badass at killing monsters. But your people skills kinda suck."

Perhaps that was a fair assessment, as the last time that Castiel had spoken to someone during an investigation, he had accidentally revealed that they were hunters, which had ultimately led to him being tortured. But after the way that Dean had been acting this past week, Castiel was not in the mood for fairness, nor for allowing Dean to insult him.

"I am sorry if you think that I will be incapable of helping you on this hunt," Castiel snapped in a tight voice, in a way that made it clear that he did not actually feel sorry at all. Finally, he believed that he was beginning to get the hang of sarcasm. "If I'm so useless, then, perhaps I should remain in the motel room, allow you three to continue the hunt while you contemplate while you even bothered to bring me along in the first place."

Dean let out a long breath. "Listen, man, you know that that's not what I meant-"

"I would not be so certain of that if I were you," Castiel said in a low voice. "From my perspective, it sounds as if that is exactly what you meant. You have made it abundantly clear over the past few days that you would rather I were not around, despite the fact that you were having sex with me barely more than a week ago." Dean spluttered, shaking his head hard at Castiel like he was trying to keep Castiel from saying anything more on the subject. Of course, Castiel was hardly in the mood to listen to him. Instead, he took a step closer to Dean and said, "I consider Sam to be a good friend, and I am just as eager to learn the truth of his powers as you, and so I am going to go down to the diner where Andy works, and I intend on following Bobby's plan. Once we have uncovered the truth, simply say the word and I will be gone."

The words hurt to say. It had only been slightly more than a week ago when he had promised Dean that he would never leave unless Dean wanted him to go, and at the time, he had begun to believe that Dean would always want him to stay. But he meant it.

Dean sputtered again, but Castiel didn't wait around for an answer. He turned on his heel and stormed off out the door, letting it slam shut behind he. Instinctively, he headed for the Impala, then paused after only a few steps, realizing that riding in the backseat of Dean's car was probably the last thing that he wished to do at the moment.

After a second, he heard someone awkwardly clear his throat, then Bobby said, "That's my pickup truck over there, if you want a ride."

"Thank you," Castiel said, then walked over to the waiting truck and climbed into the backseat.

"You could ride up front if you want," Bobby offered as he got into the driver's seat. "I'm pretty sure that Sam's going to ride with Dean. And give him a piece of his mind, judging by the look on his face."

"Thank you," Castiel repeated, "but I am fine where I am." Mostly because moving to the front seat seemed to be too much work at the moment.

"Suit yourself," Bobby said with a shrug, and backed out. It wasn't until they were driving down the road that he added, "Listen, Dean's a good guy and all, but he can be an idiot sometimes. Don't let it get to ya."

"I will remember that," Castiel said stiffly, though privately, he was tired of waiting while Dean acted like an idiot. Mostly, he at least wanted to know what had prompted Dean's change in behavior, and whether or not it was worth hoping that Dean would return to his old self sometime soon. At the moment, Castiel could not help but worry that maybe this was Dean's normal manner of behavior, and that he had been foolish for assuming that Dean cared about him.

He did not want to think that, or believe that it could be true. And he did know for certain that Dean cared about him, at least somewhat. At times, though, that was difficult to remember.

"You two will figure it out," Bobby said after a minute had passed in silence. "If your relationship's worth anything at all, then Dean'll get his head screwed on right before he ruins anything forever."

Castiel certainly hoped that that would be true. He wasn't so certain, though.

* * *

><p>The waitress at the diner introduced herself as Tracy, and only made it halfway through taking their drink orders before she broke off and began yelling at the busboy who wasn't clearing the tables fast enough, which was how they learned that his name was Weber. There didn't appear to be anyone else working – at least, not anyone who was out front, though Castiel assumed that there must be more people in the kitchen. But the restaurant was small, and didn't appear to be very busy, so perhaps two people was all that was needed to keep the place under control.<p>

Bobby and Castiel both ordered coffee, and Tracy flashed them a wide, fake smile before promising that she'd bring them out immediately. Then she turned and headed back into the kitchen, giving Bobby and Castiel relative privacy in which to talk.

"Okay," Bobby said, leaning forward slightly so that Castiel would still be able to hear him, even though his voice was lowered. "Let's start by asking Tracy if she knows anything about Andy. She looks like she's running the place, so there's a good chance that she was working here a year ago, before he quit." Castiel nodded agreement, and Bobby added, "Just follow my lead, we'll mostly be making it up as we go."

Castiel shifted. "Are you certain that that is such a good plan?" he asked, because as angry as he was with the things that Dean had said, he couldn't help but acknowledge that in some respects, Dean had been right about Castiel's abilities when it came to questioning suspects, and though Castiel wanted to prove Dean wrong, he also didn't want to risk ruining the investigation, especially when discovering the truth was so important to keeping Sam's safe.

Bobby just nodded and said, "You'll do fine," though, so Castiel squared his shoulders and nodded. Yes, he would do fine. He would prove to Dean that he could speak to someone without blowing his cover, and that would show that Dean had been completely wrong when it came to Castiel's hunting abilities.

Castiel turned and saw Tracy talking toward them, holding the pot of coffee in one hand. He looked over and nodded at Bobby, then immediately returned his eyes to her, watching as she came closer and closer to their table. Privately, he was running over a variety of possible ways to mention Andy Galagher, and to casually bring him up so that they could talk. He couldn't think of any foolproof ways, though. Perhaps it would be better if he waited until Bobby had said something, and then followed his lead. He could prove to Dean that he wasn't useless as soon as Bobby had found a way to "break the ice", as Castiel had heard people say before.

Sam and Dean were currently sitting on a bench outside, waiting to see what they found out about Andy. It was likely that they wouldn't know who had begun the conversation, anyway, so this wouldn't be taken as a sign that Castiel was not good enough. At least, Castiel hoped that it wouldn't be.

Tract had almost reached their table, when suddenly a boy who looked to be about Sam's age burst through the door, panting hard, a panicked look on his face. Tracy turned toward him, them immediately set down the pot on the nearest tabletop, and hurried over to him. "Andy? What's wrong?"

Bobby's eyes immediately went to Castiel's, and they exchanged a look before turning their attention back to Andy.

"Dr. Jensen," Andy gasped, and closed the distance between him and the girl, grabbing her and wrapping his arms around her. He lowered his head against Tracy's shoulder and added in a much lower voice, "He's dead."

"What?" Tracy asked, pulling back just enough that she could look at him, her eyes wide. Clearly the news of the death hadn't had time to reach them.

Andy nodded, looking slightly shaky. "I just, I needed to come find you," he said, his arms tightening on her again. "Is that okay?"

"I- Of course," she said, then slowly reached up to pat him on the back gently.

Castiel leaned forward and told Bobby in a low voice, "Well, I'm assuming that we don't need to go looking for Andy, then."

Bobby snorted. "No, I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that we found him. And either the kid's genuinely shocked, or he's a damn good actor."

Yes, that was true as well. "So, what do we do now?" Castiel asked.

"Change of plans," Bobby said. "Got a badge on you?"

Castiel felt in the pockets of his trench coat, searching. "Just my FBI one," he whispered back.

Bobby considered for a second, then shook his head. "No good," he said, then stood and added, "Again, just follow my lead."

Castiel nodded and followed over to where Tracy and Andy were still standing with their arms wrapped around each other.

"Excuse me," Bobby said, and pulled a police badge out of his own pocket. This one was not FBI; Castiel supposed that it was what Sam had called local PD. "I couldn't help but overhear. I take it that you knew Dr. Jensen?"

Andy pulled back from Tracy, though he kept one arm curved around her shoulders. "Uh, yeah," he said with a nod. "My dad's good friends with him. I've been going to him since I was a kid."

Bobby nodded and returned the badge to his pocket. "We're supposed to be off duty right now," Bobby said, with a gesture down at his clothes and Castiel's. "It's why we're not in the official uniform or anything. But we just heard the news about what happened. He was a great guy, can't imagine why he would do something like this, and we're just trying to get to the bottom of it. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"

"Me?" Andy repeated slowly. "Why me?"

Bobby gave a small shrug. "Like I said, we're trying to find out as much about him as possible, and talking to family friends is going to help with that," he said, then added, "We can keep it off the record, if you prefer. You're not in trouble, don't worry. I guess you could say that this is more for myself than anything else. A lot of people on the force don't care why people did it as long as we know who did it, but we've never been able to think that way."

Andy glanced at Castiel, who assumed that the best thing to do was confirm Bobby's story, so he nodded, then added, "It won't take much time."

"I- Sure," Andy said slowly. "There's, uh, there's a back room if you want to talk there."

Bobby nodded and gestured for Andy to lead the way. They ended up in a back storage room, surrounded by various canned and boxed foods on rickety shelves.

"When was the last time you've seen or talked to Dr. Jensen?" Bobby asked, to start them off.

Andy bit his lip, looking like he was thinking about his answer. "Uh, about a week ago," he said after a moment. "He was over for dinner. Dad made me come home to eat with the two of them. It was the first time I'd seen the doctor in months."

"And did he seem strange to you at all?" Castiel asked, and made sure not to give any examples, and particularly not to list the signs of demonic possession. He had learned from his last mistake.

Andy, though, was already shaking his head. "Not at all," he said. "Everything was completely normal. Just, god," he covered his face with one hand, and added, "It doesn't make any sense, this isn't like him at all. I don't have a clue why he'd do this."

"I'm sure that there's an explanation," Castiel said awkwardly, because he wasn't sure what other words he could use.

Andy nodded, but didn't look reassured. "Can I ask a question now?"

Castiel hesitated, but nodded after a moment. "What would you like to know?"

"What exactly happened?" Andy asked. "Exactly? I mean, I know that the doctor's dead, and it sounds like someone else is, too, but nobody will tell me more than that."

Bobby opened his mouth to answer, and Castiel would have gladly allowed him to be the one to answer the question, but then Bobby's cell phone rang. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID, then turned to the two of them. "Sorry, this looks important," he said. "But it's okay. My partner knows more about the actual deaths than I do, anyway." He nodded at Castiel, then answered his phone and walked off, going over to stand by the door, still within the room, but far enough that he would not be a part of the conversation.

Castiel looked back at Andy, who was watching him expectantly. "Well?"

Castiel swallowed, and decided that the best thing he could do was explain the situation honestly. That would make Andy more likely to answer their questions. Or, at least, he hoped that it would. "From what I've heard," Castiel said slowly, "the doctor entered the gun store, loaded a gun, then shot the man behind the counter before killing himself."

Andy's hands clenched around his knees, but he nodded once. "Okay," he said, his voice tight. "And you have a guess about why he did it?"

This time, Castiel had to lie. "I don't know." After all, it was likely that Andy wouldn't believe the truth.

Andy narrowed his eyes. "You're lying," he said. Castiel was prepared to argue that he was not, but before he could, Andy said, "Tell me the truth! Why do you think he did it?"

There was something different about Andy's voice now. Castiel couldn't be entirely sure what it was, but it didn't... quite... sound like it belonged to Andy anymore. Castiel frowned, trying to figure out what the difference was, as he said, "The theory that makes the most sense is demons. You are definitely connected to the demon Azazel, at the very least, and it seems highly unlikely that your presence is merely a coincidence. I suppose that my friends would probably say that you were the one who killed him."

"Demons," Andy repeated, his voice sounding somewhat strangled and shaking, and he swallowed hard, his breathing abruptly speeding up, like he was trying not to panic.

It was then that Castiel realized what he had just said. He froze, and lifted one hand to touch his fingertips against his mouth, trying to determine what had possibly caused him to say that out loud, especially when he had been so determined that he was not going to unintentionally reveal their secrets this time. "Why-?" he began.

"Tell me," Andy said, his voice suddenly much firmer. "Tell me more about Azazel."

Castiel nodded at once. "He appears to be collecting children. For what, we don't know. Actually, we were hoping that coming here and investigating you would help us to learn something about whatever's happening. And all of Azazel's children have some type of powers, and it just occurred to me that I may currently be under the influence of whatever your power is, because I had no intention of telling you any of this."

"Who are you?" Andy demanded. "All of you? Answer."

"Castiel, I believe," Castiel said, the name slipping from his mouth without his conscious choice. "Or, Jimmy Novak is the name that people usually use with me, even though I'm not quite sure if that's right or not. I'm currently working with a man named Bobby Singer, and with two brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. We are hunters, and Sam has the ability to see when people are going to die, and the deaths are typically related to the demon Azazel, who I've already told you about. Sam saw that the doctor was going to kill himself, and we tried to arrive in time, but did not make it."

Andy was definitely shaking now. "I need to go," he said, sounding terrified as he jumped to his feet, then looking Castiel hard in the eyes. "I'm leaving now. Don't try to stop me."

Castiel nodded – of course he wouldn't try to keep Andy from leaving – and Andy shoved past him, running for the door. Bobby looked up, surprise flashing in his eyes as he realizes that Andy was leaving, but he didn't get the chance to do anything before Andy was gone, the door swinging shut behind him. Bobby turned toward Castiel, the confused expression still locked on his face as he hung up his phone. "What the hell was that?"

Castiel blinked slowly, trying to clear his head. "I am not sure," he said after a moment. "I don't know what just happened."

"Well, whatever that was, let's talk about it later," Bobby said, and held up his cell phone for a moment before slipping it into his pocket. "That was Dean. We gotta go meet up with him and Sam."

Castiel nodded. "Where are they?"

"Gas station down the road," Bobby said. "Apparently Sam's had another vision, and they didn't make it in time to stop this one, either. That means we've got another body on our hands."

* * *

><p>"You said that she got a phone call, then decided to just squirt gasoline all over herself and then set herself on fire?" Bobby asked, sounding vaguely incredulous. Castiel did not blame him. He found it hard to believe himself. In fact, there was a good chance that he would not have believed him, if it wasn't for the fact that the charred remains of the body was still lying in the center of a gas station parking lot, in plain sight despite the multitude of police officers and ambulance workers who gathered around it.<p>

Sam nodded, then turned to Castiel. "And you say that he made you tell him stuff?"

Castiel also nodded. "It was as though I were not in control of myself," he said slowly. "I would never have told him that we suspected demon involvement, and I most definitely would not have shared the fact that Sam has visions." He immediately glanced over at Dean, half expecting Dean to say something about how Castiel must have just made a mistake and let this information slip. Dean did not say any such thing, though. He just frowned at Castiel, and for a second, Castiel believed that the look in his eyes was genuine worry.

"So, I think it's safe to say that we know what Andy's power is," was all that Dean said.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "but this woman got the phone call a minute before she died, if that. And we got to the gas station just as she was lighting the match. No way that Andy could've done it, if Jimmy was watching him at the time."

Again, Castiel expected Dean to argue. He did not. "So then, if it's not Andy, who is it?" Dean asked.

"That's what we need to figure out," Sam said, then lanced back over at the woman. "We could start by figuring out who our mystery victim is, and try to figure out what her connection to the doctor could be."

"And try to see if we can figure out a way to track down that boy Andy," Bobby added. "I get the feeling that he knows more than he's letting on."

"Alright," Sam said. "Let's go back to the restaurant and ask around, see if we can figure out where Andy might've gone. As soon as we know that, we can figure out what to do from there."

* * *

><p>Just as before, it turned out that they didn't need to make any attempts to track down Andy. He was waiting in front of the restaurant when they arrived, pacing back and forth in front of the doors. His eyes had been locked on the pavement below him, but he looked up as they approached.<p>

"You," he said, looking toward Castiel immediately, then hurrying forward a few steps forward, lessening the distance between them. "Castiel, or Jimmy, or whatever your name is. I want to know more about this demon you were telling me about."

"So your Andy Galagher," Dean said, taking a step forward. "You want to say something about the fact that three people were murdered today, by someone who looks like he's gotta have the exact same power that you've got?"

"What?" Andy asked, looking so incredulous that it made Castiel feel almost certain that Andy had not known this before. "No, I didn't kill anyone! Believe me!"

Well, that certainly cleared that up, at least, though it did mean that they were going to have to figure out who was really responsible. "Sorry for the accusation, then," Dean said, and Bobby nodded in agreement as Dean added, "Honestly, we're not entirely sure who did it, didn't meant to accuse you of something you obviously didn't do."

Sam looked at the three of them, his eyes narrowing. "You know, it only makes you look more guilty when you do that," he said.

Andy froze, blinking up at Sam, with shock etched on his features. "Wait, this doesn't work on you?" he asked, backing up a step.

Sam took a step forward, larger than the one that Andy had taken, so that they were now even closer to each other than they had been before. "No, apparently it doesn't," he said. "You want to tell me exactly what you're doing?"

"I'm not doing anything, I swear!" Andy insisted. "I don't even know what you're talking about, three murders! Your pal said that there was only two?"

"There was another death about ten minutes ago," Sam said. "And see, I was thinking that it couldn't be you, since you were talking with Jimmy when it happened. But when you do stuff like that-" he gestured back at the three of them "-it makes me not so sure."

"Okay, okay," Andy said quickly. "I won't use it anymore, okay?"

Dean took a step forward. "Now, tell us about your Obi-Won mind magic crap," he said.

"I-It started about a year ago," Andy said, and shrugged. "It's awesome, you know? I can make people do anything that I want, why wouldn't I like that? I got to quit my job, nobody bothers me about paying rent, I can get gas and food for free. Who wouldn't like that? But I'm not some psychopath or anything, I'm not going to go out and kill people."

"Well, if you're not," Bobby asked, "then who is?"

"You think that I know?" Andy demanded. "Hell no!"

He sounded very empathetic as he said it, and Castiel found himself believing it, though he couldn't be certain of how much of it was because of the "mind magic", as Dean had described it. Still, though, Castiel cleared his throat, causing everyone to look at him. "Do you think that there is any chance that there may be another one of Azazel's children in town?" he asked. "Someone with the same power as Andy, perhaps?"

They all turned to Sam for the answer, who nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, maybe. That would explain it, then. I'd need to do some research to figure it out." His fingers twitched, like he already wanted to reach for his laptop.

"Okay, back to the motel for now," Bobby decided. "We can figure out what to do there. And you-" He pointed straight at Andy, who gulped. "You're coming with us. You may not be the one who caused this, but I still want to talk to you more."

"Yeah," Andy agreed, his voice going shaky again, but when he nodded, his face was firm. "I kinda want to figure out what the hell is going on, too, you know? So yeah, I'm coming with you."

"Let's go, then," Dean said, and they headed down to where they had parked the car and the truck.

Sam's put his hand on Andy's shoulder, and gave it a squeeze that looked to be tighter than what could possibly be comfortable. "Considering that I'm the only one who isn't going to fall for your mind jutsu," he said, "you're going to ride with me."

Andy swallowed, but again, he nodded. "Sounds fair," he agreed.

Castiel thought about climbing into the Impala as well – if nothing else, then because he wanted to stay close to Andy, to see what else they could learn from him. Then Dean glanced over at him, meeting Castiel's eyes, and Castiel immediately turned and headed for Bobby's truck instead.

He risked a glance over his shoulder as he was climbing into the passenger seat. Dean was still looking over at him, and he looked almost- disappointed? Was that the word for it? That made no sense, though, and Castiel scowled to himself as he limbed into the car, deciding that he must have been wrong, somehow. It was the only explanation.

Somehow, though, he didn't think that he had been.

* * *

><p>The five of them had been lying around in the motel room for the past hour or so, none of them saying a word. Part of that was because they didn't want to disturb Sam's research, the rest because it seemed as though none of them knew what to say, exactly.<p>

Dean was stretched out on one of the beds, leaning back against the headboard, once more reading through his dad's journal. Bobby had also produced a couple books about demons from the backseat of his truck and he and Castiel were scanning through them for any signs of the name Azazel. So far, Bobby had found bits and pieces of lore, which was interesting, but didn't give them any indication of what they were dealing with now. Castiel's book had been completely useless.

Andy was sitting at the table across from Sam, fidgeting in his chair and twitching occasionally. Sam was bent over his laptop, eyes never leaving the screen, though now he suddenly looked up. The movement was enough to catch everyone's attention, even before Sam asked, "Andy, you were adopted?"

"Yeah," Andy said, and shrugged. "Why?"

Sam leaned forward, an intent look on his face. "And did you know anything about your birth family? Anything at all?"

"No," Andy said, sounding confused now. "The adoption was arranged before I was even born, I never even knew who they were. I mean, fuck, my dad'll barely tell me anything about my adoptive mom, doesn't like to talk about her since the fire," he said, then stopped and awkwardly explained, "Uh, my adoptive mother died in a fire-"

"-in your nursery when you were six months old," Sam finished for him.

Andy blinked. "Wait, how did you-?"

"So far, every one of Azazel's children that we met has had a mom who died that way," Sam said absently. "But you've never heard of the name Holly Beckett, then?"

"Uh, no," Andy said slowly. "Why?"

"Because that's the name of the woman who just killed herself," Sam said. "I hacked the police reports," he added, as way of explanation, then added, "and her medical record. Turns out, she gave birth to twin boys twenty-three years ago, and they were both put up for adoption. One boy, Andy Galagher. The other, Ansen Weems. I take it that that name doesn't mean anything to you?"

Andy shook his head numbly. "Never heard of him, either," he said slowly, then looked at Sam sharply. "Wait, you think that-?"

"That your twin brother is the one going psycho on these people?" Dean finished for him, then nodded, tossing the journal to the side and scooting toward the end of the bed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and nodded. "I'd say that that's a pretty safe guess."

"No way," Andy said. "No way. I do not have an evil twin brother, that is not possible."

"Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you," Sam said slowly, sounding like he meant it, "but it looks like you do. I mean, it all fits. It looks like Ansen was also adopted by a family who lives around here, and if you're twins, it'd make sense that you have the same power. And it would also explain the victims. Your birth mother, and the doctor who delivered you as a baby. I'm guessing that the guy who worked at the gun store was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, probably wasn't a real target."

"So, they killed themselves because my evil twin told them to," Andy said slowly, still putting emphasis on the words "evil twin", as though he didn't believe it. Then he asked, "Do you know who he is? What he looks like? Fuck, I could've been passing him on the streets and I never would've known it!"

"I'll see if I can get a picture," Sam promised, and typed something on his laptop. After a minute of scrolling, he said, "Okay, I found a newspaper article. It looks like Ansen Weems won a science fair contest beck during his senior year of high school. The picture's about five years old, but it should still help. I can try to find something more recent if we need it." He spun his laptop around and pushed it across the table to Andy. "He look familiar to you at all?"

For a moment, Andy just stared at the photo, his eyes wide and his mouth partially opened. Then, suddenly, he pushed himself to his feet so fast that the chair behind him fell over and crashed to the floor. "Fuck," he practically shouted, and had his cell phone in his hand a second later.

Everyone else hurried to their feet as well, and stepped toward them. "Andy?" Dean asked. "What are you doing, man?"

Andy ignored them. He hit a number on the speed dial, and a second later, the phone was ringing. Whoever was on the other end must have answered immediately, because Andy quickly said, "Hey, dude. Where are you right now? What? Why are you and Tracy- You know what, never mind. I need to talk to you. Think we could meet up?" Pause. Castiel and the others exchanged a look, not knowing what to do about this new development, and then Andy said, "Yeah, okay, let's head to your apartment. Wha-? No, it doesn't matter about your roommates, we can just kick them out of your room. It doesn't matter, okay! I just need to talk to you right now!" Pause. "Yeah, okay, I'll meet you there in five minutes. Yeah, I'll have one of the roommates let me in if you're not home."

He hung up the phone without another word, then started for the door, but Dean stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "What the hell do you think that you're doing?" he asked, glaring at Andy with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Listen, I've got to go talk to him," Andy insisted. "He's my twin. Well, okay, evil twin, but still."

"You don't know this guy," Dean insisted. "No way are you meeting up with him alone."

Andy was quiet for a minute, then he shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "I do know him, actually. And-" He broke off, and swallowed hard. "And he's a friend, okay? So I'm going to go talk to him."

"Listen, kid-" Bobby began, but never got the chance to finish.

"I'm going," Andy insisted, then ordered, "Don't try to stop me."

He ran off. Sam was the only one to go after him, calling his name as he followed him out the door. Apparently he was unsuccessful, though, because he returned to the motel room a minute later, alone. "We need to figure out where he went," he said, and grabbed his laptop, holding it up to show it to the rest of them. "Anyone recognize the boy from this picture?"

Castiel looked at it, then slowly nodded. "Yes," he said, surprising even himself. "That's the boy from the restaurant. But earlier, he had been called Weber."

"That's a start, then," Dean said, grabbing his coat from where he'd thrown it onto the bedside table and shrugging into it. "Come on, everyone, let's go. We gotta catch up with that idiot before he gets himself killed."


	18. Part 1, Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17**

None of them knew where they should go, or how to find Ansen's apartment. "The restaurant," Sam said suddenly. "It's only seven o'clock, they should still be open. One of his coworkers is bound to know." So they piled into the two cars and took off.

They didn't have to go all the way to the restaurant. They only made it halfway there when Castiel pointed out the window and shouted, "Pull over."

Bobby did, and a second later, the Impala parked behind them. Castiel jumped out of the car and hurried forward.

About ten feet in front of him, Tracy was walking down the street, her shoulders hunched, wrapping her arms around herself as if for protection. "Excuse me," Castiel called in a low voice, trying not to startle her. She froze, then turned around, just as Bobby, Sam, and Dean jogged up behind her.

"You're the cops who were talking to Andy earlier," she said, her voice shaking. "What are you…"

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked, taking a tentative step toward her. She definitely did not appear to be alright, to judge by the way that her body was trembling.

She nodded immediately, then bit her lip and shook her head, bowing her head like she was trying to hold back a sob.

"What happened?" Sam asked, his voice low and soothing.

She looked up at him. "Who are you?"

"He's a cop as well," Castiel said quickly, and Sam nodded, pulling out his badge to show her. It was a good thing that Sam hadn't taken the time to remove it from his pocket, or to change out of his suit. He at least looked more professional, even if he wasn't wearing a police uniform.

"Okay," she said in a small voice, then took a deep breath and said, "Weber… He's the busboy at the restaurant, kind of a weirdo to be honest, but I've always figured he was harmless. But he… He made me go with him, said he was taking me on a ride." She shuddered, wrapping her arms tighter around herself, until her fingernails began to leave marks on her arms. "I didn't want to, obviously, but I couldn't say no. It was like I couldn't stop myself."

"He has that effect on people," Castiel assured her. "What happened next?"

Another deep breath, and then she continued, "I tried to call someone, to tell them what the hell was happening, but he stole my phone, threw it out the window. Then he was talking about… I don't even know, something about how I was getting too close to Andy, and I needed to be taken care of. It was just psychopathic, you know? Then he gets this phone call and suddenly stops the car and tells me to get out, says I got lucky this time, he's got somewhere else to go."

Castiel exchanged a look with the other three, who nodded. Dean was the one to ask, "Do you know where Weber's apartment is?"

Tracy nodded slowly. "It's over on Main Street. Um, Pleasant Hills Apartment Complex, room 205. It's the big building, you can't miss it. He shares this room with, live, five other guys."

"Okay, let's go," Dean said, and started to turn to head back to the car. Sam and Castiel both hesitated, though, and after a moment, Dean turned back and frowned at Tracy, like he had just realized that they shouldn't leave her on the road by herself.

"You boys go get him," Bobby said. "I'll make sure she gets home safely." He turned toward Tracy and held his cell phone out to her. "You want me to give you a ride back to your place, or would you rather call someone to come get you here?"

"Call," Tracy said in a small voice, taking the phone and dialing a number with shaking fingers. "Thank you."

"Okay, now we can go," Dean said, turning and jogging off, with Sam following directly behind him.

Castiel hesitated for one minute longer, still staring toward Bobby and Tracy, until Bobby turned his head and gave him a look. "Go," he said, and Castiel nodded, then turned and ran off after the Winchesters.

* * *

><p>The front door to the apartment building was locked. Castiel tugged on it once, twice, but it didn't open. He frowned and turned to the Winchesters. "What do we do now?"<p>

"Your badge," Dean said. Castiel's frown deepened, becoming more puzzled, but he pulled his FBI badge from his pocket. Dean snatched it from his hand, then hit the buzzer and held the badge up to the screen. "FBI, open up," he called. "We've got an arrest warrant for one of your tenants."

For a second, Castiel did not think that it would work. Then there was a clicking noise, and Sam yanked the door open so that the three of them could run inside.

It only took Dean a minute to lead them to the correct door. Immediately he banged his fist against the wood, hard.

There was no response. Dean pounded against the wood again, this time calling, "Ansen! Andy! Listen, I know you two are in there, so just open the damn door before we break it down."

And still, nobody responded. Dean just nodded. "Okay, I'm breaking it down," he said. He took a step back – Sam and Castiel moved to the side so that they would not be in the way – and Dean threw himself forward, hitting his shoulder against the door. The wood began to give slightly. Dean tried again, and this time, it broke completely, so that Dean could shove the door open and hurry inside, with Sam and Castiel right behind him.

Then all three of them froze.

There were four dead bodies lying in the living room. All of them appeared to be around Sam and Andy's age – Ansen's roommates, Castiel suddenly realized. They were lying randomly about the room. One was stretched out on the couch, holding a bowl of popcorn, his eyes still locked on the TV. The one in the armchair was in the same position, and two were sprawled across the floor, as if they were lying where they had fallen. All of them were covered in varying amounts of blood.

"Shit," Sam said, then hurried forward. "Andy! Andy, are you there?"

Dean took a step closer to one of the bodies and hesitantly touched one of the non-bloody spots on its arm, then turned back to Castiel, holding out his hand to show a powdery yellow residue that stuck to his fingers. "Sulfur," he said in a low voice, then glanced around. "Place is covered in it."

Sam was back a moment later, his eyes wide, and Castiel could see the honest fear in them. "They're gone," he said. "I looked in all the rooms. They're not here."

"Okay, don't panic just yet," Dean said. "Let's take a better look, maybe they could still be around here."

So they looked. But Sam was right. Ansen and Andy were both nowhere to be found.

"Do you think that Ansen-" Castiel began. Instead of finishing the sentence, he simply gestured around toward the dead bodies to show what he had meant.

"No," Sam said at once. "I'm sure that Ansen wouldn't have a problem doing this, but no. There's sulfur here, and there weren't any on the other victims. Or, at least, there was nothing on Holly Beckett, that was the only body that I got to see myself. But I don't think that it was him."

"So, you think that a demon did it?" Castiel asked slowly.

Sam nodded, his mouth pressed into a thin line. "And whatever demon killed them," he said, "I think it's the reason why Andy and Ansen are missing."

* * *

><p>They continued to search the apartment, but found nothing more that could help them. And so they returned to the motel. Bobby was already there, having already seen Tracy home safely.<p>

Sam paced back and forth across the motel room, not stopping. He barely even responded when people tried to talk to him, until Dean suddenly grabbed him by the arms and roughly pulled him to a stop. "Alright, that's enough," Dean insisted. "You think that you've got a reason to panic, then you share it with the class, okay?"

"Think I've got a reason to panic?" Sam asked incredulously. "Dean, you saw what happened. I think that's a pretty damn good reason to panic."

Dean shook his head. "Whatever happened, it's not going to happen to you," he said. "I can promise you that."

"Your brother's right, boy," Bobby said, taking a step closer to Sam. Castiel wanted to add something equally helpful, but wasn't sure what. So he remained silent, and allowed Bobby to do the talking. "Whatever's going on, we're gonna figure it out, and we're gonna fight it."

"How?" Sam said.

"We got salt and weapons," Bobby began, but Sam shook his head and cut him off.

"How do you know that we can do anything about this?" Sam demanded. "You've seen what's going on. So far, we've only met three other kids like me, and two of the three of them have been killers, have you noticed that?"

"Yeah, but you're not," Dean said.

"Have you seen how many things that I've killed?" Sam asked. "Hell, I'm probably the closest to a serial killer out of any of Azazel's special children."

Though Castiel had been planning on keeping silent, he now felt compelled to speak. "No," he said. "There is a very big difference between killing to protecting the innocent and killing because you want to, and I cannot imagine that you would ever cross that line."

"He's right," Dean insisted. "You know which one was the closest to a serial killer? Max Miller, when he went psycho and started murdering his family. Or this Ansen guy, he seemed pretty serial killerish to me. But whatever is making them go all loco, it's not going to get to you, okay?"

Sam nodded, though even Castiel could tell that he wasn't convinced, but at least he did not argue. "And what if it doesn't matter?" he asked. "What if demons show up and I go missing like they did? I've been spending all this time worrying that I could go insane like all the other kids did, but hell, maybe it doesn't even matter what I do."

"We can take care of that," Bobby said, and turned and began going through his own duffel bag.

"How?" Sam asked. "It's not like I can sit around behind salt lines forever."

"No," Bobby agreed, "but you can carry around this." He tossed something to Sam, who caught it and held it up, revealing that it looked intensely similar to a hex bag. Castiel instinctively stiffened, even though he doubted that Bobby was about to curse them. Neither Dean nor Sam looked even remotely worried, though, so Castiel relaxed slightly.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Special charm I just found out about," Bobby said. "Keep it with you, and demons won't be able to find you."

Now, Dean was the one to stiffen, and he immediately turned to face Bobby. "Wait, it hides you from demons?"

Bobby nodded. "That was what I just told ya, wasn't it?"

"And will it work against everything?" Dean asked. "I mean, we know Yellow-Eyes is pretty powerful-"

"No reason why it shouldn't stop him," Bobby assured him. "I've heard that they could work against the King of Hell himself, if need be."

"But not just him, right?" Dean demanded. "Like, it works on everything, right? Acheri demons, daevas- What about Hellhounds? Does it stop Hellhounds?"

"I've told ya three times now, it stops demons. All demons," Bobby said. "You've got to learn how to listen, boy."

Dean ignored him, his eyes locked on the bag. "Do you got one of those for me?"

Bobby snorted. "'Course I do, boy," he said, reaching in and pulling out two more, tossing one to Dean and one to Castiel. "I stocked up on a ton of them, been handing them out to every hunter I come across. Never know when they might come in handy, it's good to be sure."

Sam and Castiel reached out and accepted the bags that Bobby was holding out toward them. Dean was still looking down at the bag in his hand, then he suddenly nodded and stuffed it into his pocket. "Thanks, Bobby," he said, and there was something off about his voice.

Sam noticed it, too, and took a step closer to his brother. "You okay?"

Dean nodded quickly. "Yeah. What? Of course I am." He turned back around to Sam and grinned, looking genuinely thrilled as he said, "See? No demon is gonna get any of us! That's awesome, right?"

Sam hesitated, looking down at his own bag like he wasn't quite convinced. But then Dean grinned and announced again, "This is freakin' awesome!"

Finally, Sam smiled back. "Okay, yeah, the fact that I'm not going to get kidnapped by demons is awesome," he agreed, then glanced over at Bobby. "Thanks. These'll help."

"They'd better," Bobby said. "But there's one thing I want in return, you know." Sam nodded for Bobby to continue, and Bobby said, "You hear anything else about this demon, you get even the smallest bit of info, I want you to call me up and let me know. You're not handling this one on your own, boys. I'm in this fight with you."

This time, when Sam grinned, it looked entirely genuine. "Yeah, sounds like a plan," he said, then added, "Thanks."

"'Course, boy," Bobby said, like Sam was being ridiculous for even saying the words. "What's family for?"

* * *

><p>Castiel was the first to return to the room that he and Dean shared. Dean decided to stay a little longer, to continue talking with Sam and Bobby. Meaning that Castiel was alone in the room as he moved about, getting himself ready for bed.<p>

It didn't take long to change into sweat pants and an oversize Led Zepplin tee shirt (Castiel didn't quite remember who Led Zepplin was, but he knew that Dean liked his music, even though Castiel could never tell the difference between him and all of the other bands that Dean listened to). After that, he finished up in the bathroom, brushing his teeth quickly (he was using a toothbrush now, Dean had explained that just eating the toothpaste was a very bad idea). He even took another moment to run his fingers through his hair to remove the knots. Afterward, though, he paused, staring at the single bed.

It was obvious that Sam had been the one to pick the room, not Dean. Otherwise, Dean would have gotten them two singles. Now, Castiel wasn't sure if he should steal the bed – which Dean would deserve, considering the way that he had been acting – or if he should be nice and sleep on the couch, allowing Dean to sleep in the bed. Castiel was certain of one thing, though. Dean would not want to share.

That was when he heard it, for the first time in weeks.

_Dean Winchester._

Castiel froze.

The voices were back.

He immediately cocked his head, closing his eyes as if that would make it easier for him to listen to the muffled voices that were just barely audible in the very back of his thoughts. There was no indication of where they had been, or why they had vanished, or why they had suddenly returned. They were much fainter than before, blurring together more than they ever had, and Castiel was fairly certain that if didn't pay attention, he wouldn't be able to hear them at all – as opposed to before, where he was able to ignore them even though their voices constantly rang through his thoughts.

Even so, he thought that he knew what they said after that.

_Twenty days._

He wasn't entirely sure that those were the words, but it seemed to be a reasonable guess. Especially since slightly less than three weeks had passed since the angels had first claimed that something big was going to happen in forty days. Whatever this event was, clearly the angels were still talking about it again.

He didn't get the chance to think about it further, though, because right then, the door opened, and Dean walked in. He glanced over at Castiel, then froze where he stood, slowly reaching back to close the door behind him. He cleared his throat. "Hey."

"Hello," Castiel said back, instinctively, all thoughts of the angels vanishing. Then he turned and headed for the couch. He would be kind today, if only because he had grown accustomed to the couch over the past few weeks of traveling with Sam and Dean, and didn't particularly mind it.

"So, Castiel," Dean suddenly said, and now, it was Castiel's turn to freeze.

It was a moment before Castiel managed to collect himself, and then he slowly turned to look back at Dean. "What?" he demanded.

"The name that Andy called you earlier," Dean said with a shrug. "That was the fake name you decided to use? It's an angel, right?"

"Yes," Castiel said slowly, remembering that Andy had, in fact, referred to him as both Castiel and Jimmy. But that didn't explain the rest of what Dean knew. "And how do you know that Castiel's an angel?"

Dean gave a grin that looked slightly sheepish. "I had to ask Sam about that one," he admitted, then shrugged again and took a step forward. "I figured, the fake names that Sam and I use always had meaning, wanted to see if yours did, too." He paused, as if waiting for Castiel to explain. When Castiel offered no words, Dean added, "So, angel of Thursday, huh? You use that alias a lot, or-?"

"It is a bit of a complicated situation," Castiel said stiffly, "and nothing that I wish to explain further. But yes, I have called myself by the name Castiel quite often."

He had expected an argument. Dean, though, merely nodded. "Fair enough," he said, and took another slow step toward Castiel. "Listen, I gotta say..."

His voice trailed off. Castiel tilted his head, waiting, and Dean took a deep breath. "Fuck, I'm bad at this," he muttered, though whether he was addressing Castiel or himself, it was impossible to say. "But I'm just, you know. Sorry. That was pretty shitty of me earlier."

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "I have to say that 'shitty' is a very apt description of the way that you have been acting since we had sex."

Castiel had expected anger to follow that remark. Instead, though, Dean looked like he was fighting a grin. "Dude, it is so weird to hear you swear," he said. "It's fucking hilarious."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and glared at Dean, who abruptly lost the amused look on his face, his lips pressing together into a thin line instead.

"But yeah," he said. "Yeah, shitty might be a good way to describe it. Just, sorry."

"And why should I accept your apology?" Castiel asked.

Castiel had expected a flippant answer. Apparently Dean was in the habit of surprising Castiel tonight, though, because he looked like he was thinking it over. "Honestly?" he asked. "I don't know. Hell, you probably shouldn't." He took another step closer. There was only a foot of space between them now. "I'm kinda hoping that you do, though. And I can promise that it won't happen again, at least."

Castiel narrowed his eyes further, and lifted his foot to take a step backward, then lowered it to the ground without actually moving. "You are certain of that?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, so strongly that Castiel did find himself believing him. "If you want to get back together or something, then I'll stop being a dick about it. Trust me, I'll be the most awesome boyfriend in the world."

For a moment, Castiel merely blinked at him. "You said the word boyfriend."

Dean shifted slightly, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Well, yeah," he said. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Again, Castiel didn't say anything – although this time, he was forcibly restraining himself from saying that yes, that had been exactly what he had been hoping for. Instead, he took the extra moment to gather his thoughts, then asked, "Why?"

Dean frowned. "Why what?"

"Why did you act this way?" Castiel asked, his voice firmer this time. "I can't be sure if I wish to forgive me or not until I know why."

Again, Dean shifted, and seemed like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. "I don't know," he said, which made Castiel frown, and reconsider whether or not he should actually give Dean forgiveness or not. Dean seemed to sense that that was the wrong thing to say, because he sighed and ran one hand through his hair, then said, "Okay, fine, look. I just, I freaked out, okay? I got this idea in my head that this-" he gestured between him and Castiel "-was a bad idea, and I figured that that would be a good way to cut it off, alright? I wasn't trying to be a dick on purpose."

"And?' Castiel prompted.

"And..." Dean said slowly. "Well, I basically decided that that was bullshit. So, I'm apologizing for it. And trust me, if I actually put my mind to it, then I do a pretty damn good job of it. So, let me give this a try."

Still, Castiel hesitated for a minute. "Why did you decide that this was a bad idea?"

There was a split-second period where Castiel thought that Dean might actually tell him. Then Dean shook his head. "Me being stupid, I guess," he said.

"Dean," Castiel said, a warning in his voice.

"Does it matter?" Dean asked. "Like I said, it was stupid, and I'm trying my damndest to fix it and make this up to you. Isn't that good enough?"

Castiel thought for a moment, and supposed that he could agree that it was, provided that Dean was telling the truth when he claimed that he would never behave that way again. To his credit, Dean did appear to be genuinely sorry, and looked like he really did want to make it right. And, despite the past week, Castiel realized that he trusted Dean.

So he was ready to say yes. But something stopped him.

_Dean Winchester. Twenty days. So close._

Castiel had begun to take a small step toward Dean, but now he drew back. This was no longer about Dean. After all, Castiel could hardly demand that Dean share every one of his secrets when Castiel was likely keeping more than Dean was. And that was precisely the problem.

"What if you had been right?" Castiel said slowly. "We don't know each other well, after all."

Dean shook his head. "I already told you, I decided that all the reasons were bullshit, remember?"

"Yes, I know that you said that," Castiel sad, "but what if you were wrong about that?" He frowned, biting his lip, trying to come up with the words. "I showed up and forced my way into you and Sam's lives. We knew nothing about each other, and even though a few weeks have passed, I know that there are... secrets."

In short, Castiel knew that he should be honest with Dean about his past before they formed any sort of permanent relationship. If anything, Castiel should've told Dean everything before now. It had been so easy not to, though. At first, he hadn't known if he could really trust the Winchesters, of if they would kick him to the streets the moment that he revealed the truth. And then it just began to seem... less important, basically. What did it matter if he had once heard voices, when they were gone now? Why would he need to know about his past, when he was creating a new life as a hunter?

Dean stiffened at the word "secrets", and Castiel braced himself for questions of what he had been hiding, which Castiel was still not sure of how he should answer. Instead, though, Dean nodded. "Yeah, you're right," he said, and even though Castiel knew that this was the best decision, he couldn't help but feel a flash of dismay at the words.

Dean turned to walk away, as though he were going to leave the motel room – though Castiel wasn't sure where he would go – but halfway to the door, he stopped and turned back. "Listen," Dean said, "I know that this isn't going to change anything, but... I'm not keeping secrets because I'm trying to hurt anyone, alright? It's pretty much the frickin' opposite, okay? Just wanted you to know that."

Castiel frowned. He hadn't even considered the idea that Dean might assume that Castiel was speaking about whatever it was that Dean refused to reveal regarding the reason behind his behavior this past week.

"But anyway, you're right," Dean said as he turned away again. "It'd probably be better if you didn't get together with me, with the stuff I'm not telling you, so-"

Castiel moved forward and grabbed Dean's arm, moving nearly instinctively. He hadn't intended to do so; it was almost as if his body had made the decision to move towards Dean on its own. "I am not overly-worried about the secrets that you have been keeping," Castiel said truthfully. He supposed that it should bother him more than it did, but as he's thought before, he could hardly blame Dean for not wanting to share his secrets so soon. "I am much more concerned with the fact that you, in all honesty, know nothing about who I am or where I come from. Very nearly everything about me is a complete mystery to you, and I have secrets that you would never even guess that I'm keeping."

Dean turned and looked at him. "Well, when you put it like that, this does sound like it'd be a bad idea."

Castiel nodded. "I just wanted to make sure that you were aware that it is not your secrets that worry me."

"Okay," Dean said. He glanced at the door again, like he was thinking of leaving, after all. Castiel's hands instinctively tightened around his wrist, even though that was the exact opposite of what he should be doing.

Then Dean kissed him. Or, it was equally likely that he had been the one to kiss Dean. Castiel wasn't aware of what exactly had happened, and schematics hardly seemed important at the moment.

Castiel did know that he was the one to break the kiss, though, moving his face back just enough that he could look at Dean's eyes. "And you are alright with the fact that we are both keeping important secrets from each other?" he questioned.

Dean chuckled. "Stupid, right?"

"Very," Castiel agreed.

Dean just shrugged. "At least we're aware of it, though, right?" he said. "We know that there's stuff that we don't know, and we're going to go ahead and do this anyway."

Castiel nodded. "It appears as though we've reached an agreement."

Dean chuckled again, then leaned forward to kiss Castiel again.

Castiel returned the kiss for a moment – okay, more than a moment – before pulling back again. "And you are alright with this?" he asked. "Even if my secrets turn out to be larger than you imagined?" He wasn't sure why he used the word "if". He knew that Dean couldn't possibly have imagined the extent of what Castiel had kept from him.

"Yeah," Dean said simply, then it was his turn to be the hesitant one. "And, you're cool, too? Even if my secret it a way bigger deal than yours?"

"That would not be possible," Castiel assured him.

Dean shook his head, all trace of laughter gone now. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

"I am fine with this," Castiel said, and they kissed yet again.

When the next time came and Castiel once more had something that he wished to say to Dean, he did not break the kiss completely, merely pulled back enough that he could say against Dean's lips, "You realize that we must share these secrets eventually?"

"Yeah," Dean said, and pulled Castiel in closer, practically crushing their bodies against one another as if he didn't care to say anything more on the subject. Castiel didn't argue. If anything, he was inclined to agree with Dean on this matter. So instead of thinking more about secrets and the fact that they would eventually have to be told, he grinned against Dean's mouth and gave him a firm push, the two of them stumbling together and until they tumbled backward onto the bed, Castiel on top of Dean, the two of them still holding onto each other as they fell.


	19. Part 1, Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 18**

The curtains in this motel room were dark red, and colored the sunlight that streamed through them. Castiel lay in bed, one arm tucked behind his head and the covers pulled up to cover his bare chest, and watched the light that shone down onto the blankets and tinted the entire room the same bold red. Then he slowly turned over onto his side, looking over at Dean.

He had thought that Dean had still been asleep, but he had been wrong. Dean's eyes were open now, his head tilted to the side, staring at Castiel.

For the fourth day in a row, Castiel had gotten to wake up with Dean beside him. Half a week had passed since they had decided that they wanted to get together for real, and so far, Dean had kept his promise.

Dean caught Castiel looking at him, and quickly smiled. "Hey," he said softly, reaching over to thread his fingers through Castiel's.

He hadn't been fast enough to hide completely, though. In the moments before Dean had realized that Castiel was looking at him, Castiel had been able to see something else in his expression. Something that revealed… not unhappiness, not exactly, but something similar.

Worry.

Fear.

Terror.

Castiel squeezed Dean's hand back, firmly. "This is related to the things that we've decided not to question each other on," he said, his voice just as soft as Deans' had been. "Isn't it?"

"What is?" Dean asked. Castiel didn't answer, and after a moment, Dean stopped pretending not to know. "Maybe," he said, which was as close to a confession as Castiel would ever make him come.

Castiel pushed him up onto one elbow, still looking hard at Dean's face. "And there is nothing that I can do to convince you to tell me?"

"Nope," Dean agreed, then reached up and put his hand on Castiel's cheek, cupping the side of his face. "And that's still cool with you?"

Castiel let out a huff of breath. "I wouldn't exactly say that I am fine with it," he said. "I'm worried about you."

But he also recognized the fairness of it. He was not quite ready to share all of his secrets with Dean. If he was not telling the whole truth, then he had no right to expect it of Dean.

And there would be time for secret-sharing later. For now, Castiel leaned forward and placed a light kiss against Dean's lips, to prove that all was well. "It is okay," he said, then added, "Soon."

"Soon," Dean agreed, his voice not sounding convincing in the slightest, but Castiel chose not to pay attention to that. Instead, he deepened the kiss, pulling Dean closer to him until Dean finally pulled back, gasping, "We need to get going. We've still got a six-hour drive in front of us."

Castiel frowned, but nodded slowly. There had been a string of suspicious suicides along the East coast over the past week, and the three of them were heading out to investigate them now. They'd been driving almost nonstop for days now, trying to arrive in time. In fact, last night had been the first time during the drive that they'd even checked into a motel. Before last night, Dean and Sam had always just taken turned driving through the night, while Castiel did his best to nap in the passenger seat while the brother who wasn't driving stretched out in the back seat.

"Alright," Castiel said, with some reluctance, and climbed out of bed to go get dressed.

Dean caught his arm and grinned. "Tell you what," he said. "If we hurry, I bet that we'll be ready before Sammy is, and then we can see if we can find anything to do with that extra time. Sound good?"

Castiel immediately grinned back. "I did not unpack last night," he promised. "I need two minutes in the bathroom before I'm ready to go."

"Now you're thinking," Dean said, and Castiel quickly grabbed his toothbrush and a pair of clothes from his duffel bag.

If he hurried, he might even be able to cut it down to one minute.

* * *

><p>It took them about three days to wrap up the suicide case.<p>

"Poor bastards," Dean said, as he scooped a shovelful of dirt onto the grave that they had just finished digging.

Sam was standing by the edge of the hole, holding up the flashlight to give Dean enough light that he'd be able to see the hole. Castiel sat on a nearby gravestone, resting – he had been the one to do the very last of the digging and uncover the body. He had also been the one to fight with the ghost, distracting it long enough that the Winchesters could salt and burn the body, though he hadn't exactly volunteered for that responsibility. The ghost had been the one to choose him for that duty, and he hadn't enjoyed it the slightest bit. He hadn't been injured beyond a few scrapes and bruises, though, so he supposed that he couldn't complain.

"Who?" Castiel asked.

"The vics," Dean said, throwing another clump of dirt into the grave. "This crazy dead girl appears to them and says that they can see their dead family members again if they just off themselves, then actually gets them to do it. It's sad."

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "So is every case that we've ever worked, Dean."

"Well, duh," Dean said. "But I don't know, this one just seems worse."

Castiel thought about it, and found himself nodding in agreement. "They simply wanted to see their family members again," he said slowly.

Dean nodded. "Exactly."

For a minute, all of them were silent. Then Sam took the shovel from Dean's hands and handed over the flashlight in return, then began shoveling the dirt back into the grave as fast as he could. "Well, it's over now," he said. "That's something, at least. Nobody else is going to die this way."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He kicked the dirt pile, sending a small stream of dirt back into the hole. Castiel just watched the two of them, squinting to try to make out the expression of Dean's face despite the darkness, and said nothing.

It took another twenty minutes to finish filling the hole completely. When it was over, Sam groaned and stretched. "I don't know about you two, but I say that we head back to the motel and save the celebrating for another night."

"Agreed," Castiel said. His jeans were covered in so much dirt that they appeared closer to brown than blue, and his tee shirt was stuck to his back with sweat. More than anything, he wanted to shower and change into clean clothing, then fall into the motel bed and not move for several hours.

Dean cleared his throat, then nodded as well. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that sounds good."

It was only a five-minute drive to the motel. Once there, Sam said goodnight to them, then turned and headed for his own motel room while Dean and Castiel walked to their joined one. "You can take the first shower," Dean said, as soon as they were inside.

"Are you sure?" Castiel asked, then offered, "We could shower together, if you prefer."

Dean, though, shook his head, then nodded. "I mean, yeah, I'm sure," he said. "I, uh, I gotta call Ash."

Castiel frowned. "At this time at night?"

"People are always up late at the Roadhouse," Dean said.

Castiel nodded, supposing that that did make sense. "What do you need to ask him about?"

"Nothing important," Dean said. His voice made it clear that he wasn't going to say anything more.

Castiel studied Dean for a long moment, then slowly, he nodded. "Alright," he said, and collected his things, then headed to the bathroom. He turned around and closed the door, then paused. Dean was sitting at the table, his cell phone resting in front of him, but he wasn't making any move to pick it up and make a call. Instead, he was staring at it with narrowed eyes, not moving, just staring.

Castiel pulled the door closed, then turned on the shower, hoping that the sound of the running water would be enough to grant Dean privacy for whatever he was going to say.

Castiel didn't linger long in the shower, mostly because he was so exhausted. Sleep sounded like the best thing, and the warm water was soothing enough that he wasn't entirely sure if he'd be able to stay awake if he stayed in there for long. So he washed himself as quickly as possible, then toweled off and dressed. It was only a few minutes later when he started to open the door.

And stopped.

Dean was on the phone, evidentially having just now decided to make the call. Castiel closed the door again, hoping that Dean wouldn't notice, and that the door would be enough to silence Dean's conversation.

Despite that, though, Castiel still heard it when Dean cleared his throat and said, "Listen, Dad, it's me. I just, I need you to call me. I know that you don't want Sam and I hunting the demon with you anymore, but at least call, okay?" There was a long pause, then a thump that sounded very much as though Dean had thrown his phone to the floor.

Castiel sat down on the edge of the counter, and slowly began counting in his head. When he made it to a hundred without hearing any further noise from Dean, he pushed open the door and stepped out.

Dean was dressed in his boxers and a clean tee shirt now, stretched out on the bed with his arms crossed behind his head. The cell phone was resting on the bedside table, and the look on Dean's face was perfectly calm. "You mind turning out the lights?" he asked. "I figured I'd wash up in the morning, if that's okay."

"Oh, yes," Castiel said, reaching to switch off the lights before climbing into bed besides Dean. "So, was your phone call... useful?" he asked, not sure what else to ask about.

In the darkness, Castiel felt more than saw it when Dean shook his head. "No, not really," he said in a low voice. "Ash didn't have what I needed."

Castiel just nodded, and settled down into bed without another word.

* * *

><p>That wasn't the only time that Dean called his father.<p>

Dean never acknowledged that he did it, but Castiel saw it happen many times over the next few days. Anytime that Dean wanted to be alone while he had his cell phone, Castiel began to assume that that was the reason. It was easy to figure it out, once Castiel knew the signs. Dean would go off to use the gas station's bathroom, and return with a scowl on his face and refuse to speak to anyone for the next hour. They would be doing research when Dean would volunteer to go get dinner, alone, and forget to bring the food when he returned. Once, Dean's cell phone rang while they were investigating a crime scene – standing in the same room as the dead bodies, in fact – and Dean had nearly dropped his phone in his eagerness to answer it. It had turned out that the phone call was from Bobby, who had uncovered the exact bit of information that allowed them to solve their current case, but somehow, Dean still looked disappointed.

Castiel watched it happening, and wasn't sure what he should do about it, or even if he should say anything at all.

He never did end up having to. Sam said it first.

The three of them were sitting on the couch in Dean and Castiel's motel room, watching a nature documentary, because Sam and Castiel had outvoted Dean and managed to veto his idea to watch the idiotic soap operas that he preferred. They had managed to kill a monster called a rugaru just a few hours earlier, and were now relaxing, holding their takeout containers in their laps as they ate dinner. Castiel didn't miss the way that Dean pulled out his phone to check for any new messages, the way that his hand was constantly covering his pocket, as if he was afraid that he would somehow miss the vibrations if he didn't keep in contact with the phone at all times.

And neither, apparently, did Sam.

"Dean," Sam suddenly said, turning off the TV and turning to face his brother. "You need to stop calling Dad."

"What?" Dean asked, then shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Dean," Sam repeated, more forcefully this time. "Jimmy and I both know that you're doing it. And just, it's a bad idea, okay? Wherever Dad is, he definitely doesn't want us to look for him, and I sure as hell don't want to find him, either."

For a second, Dean looked like he was still going to try to deny that he had been doing it. Then his hand suddenly became a fist, and he shook his head. "Well, excuse me for trying to be a good son," he snapped. "And excuse me for wanting to help Dad kill the son of a bitch who killed Mom and Jess." Sam started to say something, but Dean cut him off. "No, I know that we already talked about not rushing into this and all that crap, but I don't know, we might not have that much time."

"We have the hex bags," Sam said, pulling his bag from his pocket to show that he was carrying him. Since the day that Bobby had first given it to them, he, Castiel, and Dean had never gone anywhere without carrying one, at Dean's insistence. "If the demon tries to come for me-"

"And what if the hex bags don't work?" Dean demanded, suddenly jumping to his feet. "We know that they're supposed to, and hell, I'm gonna have faith and all that shit. But what if they don't? Sorry if I want to go find Dad now, just in case."

"We don't need Dad," Sam insisted, also getting to his feet. Castiel followed suit, though he hung back awkwardly. He was not a part of this argument; that much was obvious.

"Yeah?" Dean asked. "And why not? Why are you so against going to him, anyway?"

Something flashed across Sam's face then, but it was gone before Castiel could understand what it was, and then Sam was shaking his head. "Nothing," he said.

Dean paused, too, apparently having seen the same flash of emotion that Castiel had. He narrowed his eyes. "No," he said. "Tell me."

"Dean," Sam said, and once again shook his head. "Just, forget it."

"I'm serious, Sammy," Dean insisted, taking a step forward. "You were all gung-ho about finding Dean before I went into the hospital, and suddenly it's like you can't stand the man. What the hell happened between you two?"

Sam's mouth pressed together into a thin line. "We had another fight," he said stiffly.

Dean nodded. "About what?"

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't involve you."

Dean snorted. "Like hell it does," he said. "Seriously, what did Dad do?"

"Dean-"

"Seriously, Sam," Dean insisted. "Just fucking tell me."

Sam took a deep breath. "Fine," he said. "He planned on summoning the demon."

Dean just stared at him, looking like he didn't quite understand. Castiel didn't, either.

Sam narrowed his eyes, and for the first time, Castiel could see the anger flashing in his gaze. It wasn't anger toward him or Dean, though, Castiel was certain. "You were in a coma," Sam said slowly, like he was spelling it out for them. He was speaking in a low voice, but even so, Castiel heard the anger and hatred, alive in Sam's voice. "You were dying. Hell, you did fucking die. Your heart actually stopped, did anyone ever tell you that? I was going crazy, trying to figure out ways to save you, and he was too busy trying to kill the demon to even give a damn."

For a moment, the room was utterly silent. Castiel wasn't even sure if the Winchesters were breathing, or if they had frozen completely, the way that Castiel felt as though he had. Then Sam took a deep breath – the sound seemed loud enough to actually break the silence – and said, "Yeah, so that's why I'm not exactly in a big hurry to go find him."

Dean didn't respond. Not at first. Then he scowled and said, voice tight, "Could you leave?"

Sam instantly took a step closer to Dean. "Listen, I'm sorry," he said, and the anger had drained out of his voice by now. It was obvious that he meant it.

Dean nodded, not looking at his brother. Or at anyone, really. "Just, leave," he said. When Sam didn't immediately move, Dean snapped, "I've got to think about this, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, then turning and heading for the door. "Listen, I'm going to head back to my room. Just, come over if you want to talk, okay?"

Dean didn't respond. Sam nodded, though Dean still didn't look at him, then left.

Castiel took a step closer, hesitantly reaching out to place his hand against Dean's back. Dean stiffened under the touch, but didn't move away. Castiel frowned, then moved a bit closer, until there were only a few inches between himself and Dean. "Do you want me to-"

"Leave, too," Dean said stiffly, then let out a breath and said, "Just leave me alone for a little bit, okay?"

Castiel hesitated, but finally, he nodded. "Yes, I can do that," he said, and pressed a kiss to the side of Dean's cheek. Dean didn't respond at all, and Castiel turned to follow Sam out the door.

* * *

><p>At first, Castiel wasn't sure what he should do, or where he should go. He paced in front of the motel door for a bit, so that he would be there the moment that Dean wished to come speak with him. Minutes stretched on, turning into half an hour, and finally, Castiel acknowledged that Dean likely wasn't going to come look for him anytime soon.<p>

Castiel still didn't know where to go, though. So finally, he turned and headed next door, toward Sam's motel room.

The door was partially opened. Not enough to be noticeable, but when Castiel knocked once, the door moved slightly. It must not have latched correctly when Sam had shut it.

Instantly, Castiel was on alert. Sam was usually very careful about these things, and while he supposed that it could be carelessness caused by the emotional conversation that he and Dean had just had, it was still enough to make Castiel worry. He slid the knife from his pocket into his hand, then pushed the door open, ready to strike if there was anything dangerous inside.

Sam looked up at him, surprised. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, head bent, hands folded in his lap. Aside from looking highly upset – understandably so – he appeared to be fine. Castiel relaxed, and returned his knife to his pocket.

"Jimmy?" Sam asked. "What are you doing?"

"Your door was unlocked," Castiel said, closing it behind him, this time making sure that it latched firmly. "I wanted to make sure that you weren't in any danger."

"Oh," Sam said, and the corner of his mouth turned up into a grin. "Thanks."

"Of course," Castiel said. "And I am extremely grateful that I was wrong about you being in possible danger."

"Yeah, I'm pretty glad of that myself," Sam said, then gestured to the spot on the bed beside him. "You want to sit down?"

"Thank you," Castiel said, taking the seat that he had been offered beside Sam. For a moment, neither one of them spoke. Castiel wanted to ask Sam about the things that he had said earlier, and whether their father had truly been willing to let Dean die in order to kill the demon. He didn't, though. For one, it didn't seem like it was his place to say anything. And for another, he knew that Sam would not say anything to hurtful unless he was completely serious. And so he remained silent.

Sam was the one who finally spoke. "Okay," he said, turning to Castiel. "Can I say something stupid?"

Castiel turned to look at him, frowning. "You rarely do," he said, "and I can't see why you would purposely want to. But yes, you can if you wish."

Sam's mouth turned up into a grin for just a second before returning to his previous, serious expression. "It's just, I'm glad you're here," he said. "Traveling with us, I mean," he clarified, "and that you're here for Dean."

Castiel's frown deepened. "I do not see why that is a stupid statement."

Again, Sam grinned. "Dean would say that it was."

"Dean does not appear to enjoy talking about important things," Castiel said, then thought for a minute and said, "I believe that Dean would be wrong about that statement's stupidity. I think that that was a very nice thing to say." He meant it honestly. If anything, he was incredibly grateful to hear that Sam thought that his presence was a good thing, that he wasn't coming between the two brothers or getting in their way.

Sam nodded, smiling again. "You know," he said, "I never would've figured that Dean would actually want to date someone. And honestly? Even if I had thought of it, you're probably not what I would have pictured." Castiel squinted at that, trying to figure out if he should be offended or not, when Sam added, "But you and Dean? You're really good together, and it's obvious that Dean cares about you."

"You think so?" Castiel asked, only slightly doubtfully.

He knew that Dean worried about him, based on his reaction after Castiel's kidnapping. He knew that Dean was sexually attracted to him, based on his behavior when they were in bed together. And Dean definitely gave the impression that he wanted to be in a relationship together, now that he wasn't ignoring Castiel, so he knew that he shouldn't question it.

Even so, Castiel had no experience with these things, and hearing Sam give his opinion was... reassuring.

Sam snorted. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Trust me, I'm pretty sure that Dean's been into you since the day we met, though he never would've said anything about it."

Castiel blinked, confused. That certainly wasn't the impression that he had gotten, based on Dean's behavior. "Really?"

Sam just nodded, chuckling to himself as he did. "Good-looking guy who runs in and fights off a Vetala with his badass fighting skills?" Sam asked. "Believe me when I say that you were exactly his type." Sam tilted his head and added, "He definitely would've claimed that his type was only badass fighting _girls_, though. But trust me, nobody has ever believed that.

Castiel considered that, not entirely sure what to say in response to that. So finally, he decided to change the subject. There had been a question that he had wanted to ask for quite a while now, but it kept slipping from his mind as more important things came up, or else he remembered, but had never had a good opportunity to ask. So now, he turned to Sam and asked, "Who was Jessica?"

Instantly, Sam stiffened. "What?"

Castiel frowned, and put his hands up beside his head in the faked gesture of surrender that he had seen from Sam earlier. "I did not mean to ask a personal question that you don't wish to answer," he said quickly. "You and Dean have mentioned her name a few times now. She was killed by Azazel the same demon who killed your mom, correct?"

Slowly, Sam nodded. "No, it's cool," he said, even though there was obvious strain in his voice now. "You can go ahead and ask."

Castiel nodded, but despite the fact that he had asked the question already, Sam didn't seem inclined to answer it. Castiel waited a moment, then asked, "I'm sorry, I don't know the social protocol for these types of things. Am I supposed to repeat the question?"

"No," Sam said, which confused Castiel further. A second later, though, Sam said, "She was my girlfriend. I was... Well, I was in love with her. I'd planned on going to law school, getting out of hunting forever. And then the demon killed her."

Castiel went still. He had known that the answer would be upsetting, of course, considering that he was asking about a person who had died. Still, he had not anticipated the pain in Sam's voice when he spoke about her. And he didn't have the slightest idea what to do, so he leaned over and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I am sorry for your loss," he told him solemnly, "and I apologize for asking."

Sam shrugged, which Castiel took as a sign that he should remove his hand, and did no quickly, not wanting to make Sam uncomfortable. "It was a while ago," Sam said, though Castiel did not know why that was relevant, as it was clear that Sam was still in pain over it. It also explained why Dean was surprised that Sam was no longer quite as eager to rush into killing the demon. Castiel was certain that if anyone he cared about was ever harmed, he would not want to rest until the thing responsible had been punished.

Sam leaned forward, running one hand through his hair, his head bent in a copy of his posture from when Castiel had first entered the room, and Castiel suddenly thought that this would be a good way to switch to a different, and hopefully less painful, topic. "What were you doing?" Castiel asked. "When I first entered your room, I mean. You were sitting like that."

Sam lifted his head and looked over at Castiel, looking like he was thinking over his answer. Finally, he said, "I was praying." He paused a moment, and shrugged. "Dean might think that it's all bullshit, but that doesn't mean that I have to."

Castiel frowned. "The last time that we spoke, you said that you didn't believe in angels," he said, then amended, "Well, you said that there was no proof that they existed."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said. "But that doesn't mean that I can't believe in somethin_g_."

"Like what?" Castiel asked, curious now. "What exactly is it that you believe, then?"

Sam tilted his head, looking like he was honestly considering the question. Castiel sat completely still, more than happy to wait while Sam gathered his thoughts.

Finally, Sam admitted, "I guess I'm not entirely sure." He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, then finally continued, "I've dealt with enough Pagan and Egyptian and Norse gods- Or, I didn't deal with all of them myself, but I've heard from hunters who have, so I know that they're real. The point is, it seems like pretty much every religions holds some truth, so I don't really see the point in believing in just one of them."

"So you believe in them all?" Castiel asked.

Sam shrugged. "Sort of. I believe that there's definitely something, at least. I mean, I doubt that there's some old man holding the Earth in the palm of his hands or anything like that, but there's probably some all-powerful God somewhere. I mean, with everything we've seen? Why not?"

"And angels?" Castiel prompted. Out of everything, this was the question that held the most importance to him. "What have you decided to believe in with regards to them?"

Once again, Sam shrugged. "Do I believe that some archangel named Michael threw Satan down into Hell at the beginning of time? Don't know. Doesn't seem any crazier than the stories about the Vanir from Norse mythology, and I know that that one's real, since Dean and I fought it. And we've seen some freaky shit, so why not throw in some heavenly warriors with six wings or a hundred eyes?" he asked, then added, "I guess the point is, I believe that there's something out there. What exactly it is, I have no idea. But I can still pray to it, even if I don't know what exactly it is."

"That is a very interesting way of looking at it," Castiel said slowly, and nodded. "I think that I agree with your assessment."

Sam smiled. "Mind if I ask you something?" he asked. Castiel gestured for him to do so. "Do you pray at all?"

"No," Castiel said at once. "No, I don't believe that I ever have."

At first, he hadn't needed to. Why pray to the voices when they were already speaking to him? Especially when they frightened him with their intensity, and everyone seemed to think that he was insane for hearing them. He hadn't known why they were there – he still didn't – but he hadn't wanted to draw attention to the fact that he was listening. The angels were intimidating, terrifying. He didn't want them to notice him.

That had been his reason before. But now-

"I do still believe in the angels," Castiel said, after a long moment of silence. "Or, I think that I do, at least. Beyond that, though, I'm uncertain."

"Okay, cool," Sam said simply. "You can believe in whatever you want, you know. It's not like I can tell you if you're wrong or not."

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "It's just, sometimes I wonder if they're really there, or if I'm crazy for believing in them."

If he concentrated hard, he could tell that the voices were here today. They were an itch in his thoughts, just loud enough that he was aware of them, but soft enough that it would drive him crazy if he tried to listen to them, because he knew that he would never be able to make out even a hint of what they were saying. He was doing his best to ignore them completely.

"I don't think that you're crazy," Sam said. That was partially reassuring, Castiel supposed.

But then, Sam thought that they were speaking merely of faith. He knew nothing of the voices. If he did, then Castiel guessed that his answer would be far different.

"I still don't think that I want to pray," Castiel finally decided. "Not until I have a reason to, at least."

Sam just nodded. "That's your call," he said, then glanced at the clock. "Do you think we should go see if Dean's okay?"

Castiel frowned at the time. It had been about forty-five minutes since Dean had been left alone, which seemed like it should've been enough time that Dean could once again use their company. After a second, though, Castiel shook his head. "He would find us if he wanted us."

Sam snorted at that, but without the humor that he had shown earlier. "I've known Dean for twenty-three years," he said. "Trust me, there's no chance that Dean would ever admit that he wants someone else around when he's freaking out." But then Sam hesitated, and finally admitted, "You're right, though. Dean would probably be pissed and kick both of our asses if we try to check on him. I guess we should give him more time."

"Alright," Castiel agreed. Time. They could give Dean time. Castiel would offer him all the time that he needed if it would be of help.

Still, though, he found himself fidgeting and checking the clock every few seconds, wondering when Dean would want them to reach out to them.

But he restrained himself from going to check. Not yet, anyway.

* * *

><p>It was nine o'clock – an hour and a half after Dean had sent them from the room – when Sam suggested, "Why don't you head back over there?"<p>

"Just me?" Castiel asked. "Are you certain? You're his brother. Wouldn't he gain more comfort from you?"

Sam shook his head. "Like I said, he'd think that I was babying him if I go over to check that he's okay," he said. "But you two are sharing a room, so it makes sense that you'd have to return." Castiel nodded then, acknowledging that Sam had a point, and Sam hesitated before adding, "But if he seems like he's in a bad place, just, text me. Or call me, whichever. I can be over in thirty seconds."

"I will," Castiel promised, then returned to the room that he shared with Dean.

Dean was already in bed with the lights off when Castiel entered. Already, Castiel was beginning to recognize that this was what Dean did when he didn't wish to speak to someone. It was unlikely that Dean was actually asleep, though. He never went to bed this early. Even on days when they were all exhausted from fighting some monster, Dean usually still managed to stay up until after midnight, watching TV or reading through his dad's journal for the hundredth time.

Castiel moved around the motel room, getting ready for bed with the lights still off. Then he slipped into bed with Dean, and scooted as close to his back as he could get without actually touching. For a second, he just waited, hoping that Dean would speak first. Dean did not, so Castiel said, "Are you alright?"

Silence. It seemed that Dean was going to pretend to be asleep. Castiel just nodded to himself, and prepared to settle into bed beside Dean – he could always wait until morning to try to get Dean to speak to him. Then he heard, "Yeah, I'm awesome."

Castiel paused, then asked, "What have you been thinking about?"

Dean snorted. The sound was strangely bitter, if that was possible. "What do you think I thought about?"

Castiel supposed that that had been a stupid question. He changed it to a better one. "What decisions did you reach?"

Dean was silent for even longer this time, then finally said, "I can't exactly blame him. I mean, if he had a chance at Azazel, he should take it."

Castiel stiffened, and in an instant, he was grabbing Dean's shoulder, trying to force him to turn and face Castiel. He could not move Dean on his own, but Dean picked up on what Castiel wanted and rolled over on his own, propping himself up on one elbow. The light shining in from the street lamps outside their window was just bright enough for Castiel to see Dean's face. "What?" Dean asked.

"Don't you dare say that," Castiel said, his voice low.

"Why not?" Dean asked.

"Because it is not true," Castiel said, moving even closer to Dean, until Castiel was staring him right in the eyes and their noses were almost touching. "I do not care that this demon killed your mother and Sam's girlfriend, or that it has been taking the psychics and that Sam could be in danger. We are going to find a way to kill it and to protect Sam, but it would not be worth it if you died in the process."

"The demon has to be killed," Dean insisted, his voice rising slightly. "And it's not like Dad's a hypocrite, you know. He told Sammy to fucking shoot him with the Colt while Azazel was possessing him so that the bastard could die. He's willing to sacrifice himself."

"I don't care," Castiel said firmly. "I'm not willing to sacrifice you, and neither is Sam."

"It might not be your choice," Dean said, and something was odd about his voice, something that Castiel did not understand.

Castiel was sitting up now, holding tight to both of Dean's shoulders, his nails digging into Dean's skin. "Do not think about sacrificing yourself," he instructed. "Not even for an instant." When Dean said nothing, Castiel said, "Think about your brother, if no one else. The girl that he was in love with died because of this demon. I can't imagine how painful that must have been for him. But he is still willing to give up a chance at killing the demon because he cares about you more than he cares about vengeance. Imagine how painful it would be for him – for both of us – if you were to die."

Dean jerked away roughly. "Can we just stop talking about this?" he snapped, and lay down again, turning his back on Castiel again.

Castiel laid down beside him, wrapping his arms around Dean – being the "big spoon" was how Dean had described it, though Castiel couldn't imagine what cutlery had to do with cuddling – and leaned forward until his mouth was pressed against Dean's ear. "I will not say anything more about this," he promised, "but I do need you to promise me that you will not sacrifice yourself to stop Azazel, should the opportunity ever present itself."

"Alright, alright, I promise," Dean snapped. "I promise that I'll do everything I can to keep myself alive for as long as I can. Is that good enough for you?"

"Yes," Castiel said, and pressed a kiss to Dean's cheek before settling down in a more comfortable position, his forehead resting against Dean's hair, his arms still around Dean's body as they both closed their eyes and pretended that they were going to sleep.

* * *

><p>When Castiel woke the next morning, Dean was on the phone.<p>

Castiel kept his eyes closed, steadying his breathing so that Dean would not know that he was awake. This time, it wasn't for selfish reasons. It was because he felt that if Dean still wanted to try to reach his dad after everything that he had learned yesterday, then Castiel was not about to stop him. He would return to pretending not to know what Dean was doing, if that was what Dean wanted.

Then Dean said, "Thanks, Ash. Let me know when you've got something."

So Dean was calling the Roadhouse this time, after all. Castiel couldn't help but hope that that was a good sign. Of what, Castiel couldn't be certain, but a good sign nonetheless.


	20. Part 1, Chapter 19

**CHAPTER 19**

For their next case, the three of them hunted a Strix out in the middle of Maryland.

A Strix, apparently, was a type of owl from Greek mythology that feasted on human flesh. According to Sam, they had migrated to America a few centuries ago, though they had been hunted to near extinction over the years. Castiel and the Winchesters spent three days hiking all over the forest, searching for the monster's nest, only to suddenly get attacked by the thing in the middle of the night. Sam had been on watch at that time, and had shot the monster straight through the head before it had gotten close enough to hurt him. Dean had poked it with a stick a few times to make sure that it was really dead, and then they'd still had to spend another three hours searching for its nest, to make sure that there weren't any more of them.

Sam examined the nest – once they actually found it – and declared that yes, the Strix was on its own. Castiel wasn't sure how Sam reached that conclusion, but he didn't question it – he trusted that Sam would be able to know these things. And anyway, by this point, all of them were eager to return to civilization and rent some nice motel rooms to stay in, instead of continuing to camp out in the wilderness.

All in all, it was a successful hunt, but the Strix had managed to kill five people before the three of them had arrived to help. Four of those victims had been infants or young children – apparently the Strix's favorite meal. So despite their victory, the mood was subdued as they pulled into the motel parking lot and grabbed their bags.

Nobody even suggested going out to celebrate that night, though they had finished moving their things into the motel room just as it was beginning to grow dark outside, meaning that they had plenty of time to go drink at a bar. Instead, Dean stopped off at the closest supermarket and bought a six-pack of beer, then passed them around as they all sat together in one of the motel rooms, with Dean and Castiel lounging on the couch while Sam sat across from them in the armchair.

"Strix, man," Dean said, taking a long swig of his beer. "God, I hate those things. I thought that they'd been fucking extinct. I mean, I haven't heard of anyone hunting one for years."

"Apparently not," Sam said as he took a drink of his own, then shook his head. "But yeah, it's been, what? Ten years since we've last run into one?"

"Nine, I think," Dean said, looking over at Sam. Slowly, his eyes narrowed as he remembered. "That was the thing that chased you up a tree, wasn't it?"

Sam just gave Dean a dirty look. "In my defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Yeah," Dean said, and snorted, shaking his head. "Climb to the top of a tree to get away from a monster that can frickin' fly. Great plan there, Sammy."

"Shut up," Sam snapped, though it looked like he was trying to hide a smile now. "That was like my second hunt, and the thing was coming right at me. You could show some sympathy. I nearly shit myself with terror."

Dean just rolled his eyes. "How about you have some sympathy for me?" he shot back. "You were like fifty feet in the air, and I had to deal with trying to shoot the bird without also killing my idiot little brother." He shuddered at the memory, his face falling for a moment, as if he truly didn't like thinking about his memory, despite the fact that Sam had clearly made it through just fine. "I was convinced you were going to fall and bust your head open on a rock. Not exactly my best memory, you know."

Sam had an odd look on his face now, too, as if there were something that he was only just now occurring to him. "Oh, yeah, I remember that," he said. "You're right, I think that you were more freaked out than I was."

"Damn right I was," Dean mumbled, and shook his head. "The two of us out in the woods hunting alone, and you pull a stunt like that? I swear you were trying to give me a heart attack on purpose."

"It was okay, though," Sam said quickly, using his beer to make a dismissive gesture. "I never actually fell."

For a second, Dean didn't respond. Then he pulled a grin onto his face as though he were forcibly pushing away the bad memories. "Yeah, that's right," he said, though Castiel could hear that his cheer was forced, as though the memories were still bothering him. "Kid was like a little monkey. Couldn't have been more than two or three when he figured out that he could climb everything in the motel rooms. Dad turned his back on him for about a minute once, and Sammy makes it all the way up onto the ceiling fan."

Sam laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his grin widening into something genuine as he looked back over at Sam. "I swear to god, Dad nearly collapsed right then. We never did figure out how the hell you did that." He paused, then his grin turned to what could only be described as wicked. "And what do you mean you never fell? Don't you remember the broken arm?"

"Hey," Sam protested immediately. "I didn't fall off that roof. I jumped, and only because you told me to." He didn't make it farther before his words dissolved into laughter. After a minute, he shook his head. "You know what, forget about the monsters coming after us. It's a miracle I didn't fall and kill myself just because I was such a stupid kid."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, in a voice that instantly made Castiel turn to look at him. The laughter had left Dean's expression again, leaving a serious look in its place. He caught Castiel looking at him, then cleared his throat and added to Sam, "Seriously, there were a couple of years where I didn't even dare to turn my back on you in case you ended up shimmying the drainpipes or something."

"I bet," Sam said, also looking more serious now. "Thanks for that, you know."

Dean just shrugged, and gave Sam a one-sided grin. "Yeah, well, someone had to keep your idiot little ass in line."

Sam grinned back, then cleared his throat. "I did actually fall that one time, though, didn't I?" he asked, in an obvious attempt to turn back to the more lighthearted memories. "We'd skipped out on cleaning the weapons to go climb trees in the park, remember? I must've fallen from fifteen feet up, didn't even have a scratch."

"Guess you've always been lucky," Dean said, then added, "Dad was sure pissed about that, wasn't he? I don't know how he even found out what we did, we'd gotten them all clean by the time he'd gotten back, but he was fucking furious."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, but this time, he was the one whose voice sounded off.

They seemed to be approaching dangerous territory here (to use a metaphor that Sam had taught him). Castiel quickly decided to intervene. "What was your best childhood memory?"

Instantly, Dean was back to grinning. "Oh, boy," he said gleefully. "Let me tell you about the princess-themed birthday that I threw Sam when he was six."

"Bitch," Sam said, and threw his bottle cap at Dean's head. He was also smiling again, though, so Castiel decided that his attempts at intervention had been successful.

"I don't know what you were complaining about," Dean said, catching the bottle cap and lobbing it back at Sam. "I pretty much had to beg Dad for extra cash to buy that cake, and it was the best fucking cake I've ever tasted, pink frosting at all."

"And the fact that I wanted a Spiderman cake had nothing to do with why I was so pissed?" Sam asked.

"You'll be glad I bought you cake at all," Dean shot back. "I swear, I still remember the way the pies in that place looked. Oh, man, was I tempted."

Sam just rolled his eyes, then turned to Castiel. "Your turn," he said.

"My turn for what?" Castiel asked, then eyed the bottle cap in Sam's hand, expecting for Sam to throw it at him. After all, Dean and Sam had both been hit by it already – perhaps that was what was "his turn".

Sam, though, just grinned and said, "You know. Fun stories, childhood memories, that kind of thing." He paused, and when Castiel said nothing, he prompted, "Come on, if Dean and I are going to be all sentimental tonight, then you've at least got to join in."

Castiel froze. For a moment, it occurred to him to attempt to make something up, but he dismissed that idea immediately. For one, he wasn't entirely sure what he should say. But more than that, he didn't wish to deliberately lie. So instead, he sat there stiffly and said, "I'm sorry, I don't wish to participate. But I would enjoy it if you would continue with these stories, though."

Suddenly, both Sam and Dean's expressions shifted from amusement to concern. "Jimmy?" Sam asked, scooting forward slightly in his seat. "You okay?"

"I am fine," Castiel assured them, then tried to find the words to come next. He couldn't think of anything that could divert their suspicions. So, slowly, he admitted, "I don't have and 'fun stories' or 'childhood memories', as you said."

There. He had admitted to his lack of memories, for the first time. He sat there, practically holding his breath, waiting to see how the Winchesters would respond.

Both Sam and Dean's body language shifted completely, growing much more uncomfortable, and the worry on their faces grew stronger. "Jimmy," Sam said slowly, then cut himself off, like he didn't know if he should continue or not.

Then Dean spoke.

"Remember that time that we decided to egg your bullshit teacher's house?" he asked, turning toward his brother, facing away from Castiel completely.

Sam's body remained stiff, but after a few seconds, he nodded. "No," he said, with force cheer. "_You_ decided to egg my bullshit teacher's house after she gave me detention for reading instead of working on the homework that I'd already gotten done. I was completely innocent of that."

Dean just shrugged. "Eh, details," he said.

And just like that, the conversation moved away from Castiel, and it was only a couple of minutes before the reminiscing turned into genuine laughter. And nobody said another word to Castiel the whole time, except to turn to him every once in a while to explain some detail of a story, which quickly grew more and more embarrassing as the brothers tried to one-up each other. And Castiel simply listened, and relaxed, and finally began to laugh along with them.

Dean turned toward him with a grin the first time that Castiel laughed at one of his stories, then added, "Okay, no more asking about your childhood, but I wanna know this one, at least." Castiel frowned, more surprised than anything else, but he nodded for Dean to continue, and Dean said, "How'd you find Sam and I in the first place?" Castiel didn't immediately respond, and Dean added, "Come on, man, I've been wondering this one since the moment you turned up in the park saying you'd been trying to find us. Were you just randomly working a case where we happened to be, or did you know we'd be there?"

Sam shifted in his seat, and nodded. "I wondered that, too, actually."

"I can answer," Castiel assured them, since it wasn't like this was a part of the secrets that he was keeping. "It was a spell, actually."

Dean blinked. It wasn't that he had looked uninterested before – far from it, actually – but now he leaned forward, suddenly looking far more intrigued. "Wait, a spell? Where'd you find it?"

So Castiel explained, beginning with how he had ended up at the men's shelter after living on the streets. He kept the details simple, saying only than one of the men had suggested that he use the public library to track people down, and that it had taken him several hours before he happened across a site that seemed to be useful.

"Looking up spells online?" Dean asked, then snorted. "You sure you're not Sam in disguise?"

Castiel frowned. "I don't think that's possible."

"What website did you use?" Sam asked, before Dean got the chance to respond. "I've seen a few different websites for that kind of stuff, but most of them turn out to be fake."

"I found some of those, too," Castiel admitted. "I recognized this one, though, so I believed that it would work. And it did."

"And do you remember what the words were?" Dean asked, his voice eager. "Or how you do the spell?"

Castiel's frown deepened. "No, I don't, though I could probably find it again if you needed me to," he said. "Why are you so excited about this?"

Dean shrugged. "It'll be useful, don't you think?" he said, and glanced over at Sam. "I mean, remember when you got locked up by those freaky hillbillies last year? Imagine how much easier it would've been to track you down if I'd had a spell like that."

Sam nodded, his face thoughtful. "You know, that is actually a good idea."

"Do you want me to look for it again?" Castiel asked.

Dean, though, just shook his head. "I'll figure it out," he said. "Now come on, Sammy, you should totally tell Jimmy about the time that you locked yourself out of the motel room in just your underwear."

"I was seven!" Sam protested, giving Dean the middle finger. "You don't have to hold that over my head for the rest of my life!" Dean just laughed, and despite what Sam had said, he did immediately turn to Jimmy and begin telling the story.

After that, the mood stayed more or less lighthearted for the rest of the night, with Dean and Sam sharing more of their childhood. Castiel even volunteered a few anecdotes from his time on the streets. He didn't share many of those, though. Most of his stories were not good memories, and Sam and Dean both looked as though it made them sad to hear them.

Most of all, Castiel kept waiting for one of them to ignore what Dean had said earlier, and to ask about the fact that he didn't have memories. After all, that was a big thing for him to just have confessed, and after spending so long worrying about what their reactions would be, it seemed strange that they just- wouldn't care. It was nice, in a way, to know that their opinion of him didn't care. Even so, it was unnerving to see the subject being ignored. It was almost enough to make him want to bring it up again himself.

Almost. In the end, he didn't say another word about it, and decided that he would simply enjoy this peace while it lasted.

It wasn't until he was preparing for bed a few hours later that Castiel realized how his words had likely been interpreted.

He had been trying to tell the Winchesters that he had no memories of his childhood, whether fun or otherwise. The Winchesters, though, had probably thought that he meant that he hadn't had any fun memories, as if all of Castiel's memories were horrible. That would explain the worry and sympathy on their faces, and why they hadn't asked any of the follow-up questions which Castiel had expected.

Part of him wanted to just be grateful that he had gotten out of answering that question without technically lying. The rest of him, though, felt guilty.

The guilt had been slowly creeping up on him for weeks now. Mostly, he had been able to ignore it. He told himself that he hadn't had a choice but to be dishonest, that he never would've gained their trust otherwise, assured himself that Dean knew that secrets were being kept, and had agreed not to press Castiel about them. And most of the time, he was successful in assuring himself that nothing was wrong.

Now, though, as he stood in the bathroom with the angels' voices reverberating through his head – _five days, five days_ – he couldn't avoid it any longer.

There was a pounding on the door, then Dean called, "Hey, you almost done in there? I'm ready to go to bed."

Castiel smiled slightly, and opened the door. "I'm sorry," he said. "I did not realize that you tired."

"I'm not," Dean said, then snorted. "Who said anything about wanting to sleep?" He grinned and winked at Castiel, leaning on the doorframe. He had drank three of the beers from the six pack, and he wasn't drunk, exactly – apparently his tolerance was very high – but he was relaxed in a way that he rarely was when he was completely sober.

"Excellent idea," Castiel agreed, putting one hand on Dean's arm to lead him toward the bed, all thoughts of sleep suddenly forgotten.

Tomorrow. Castiel would speak to Dean – and Sam – tomorrow, to tell them the truth about his past, or lack thereof. There was no sense bringing it up tonight, when Dean didn't appear to be in the state of mind needed to think about something so serious.

So for tonight, he was going to enjoy his time with Dean, and attempt to make this into the best night that they had ever shared.

Tomorrow, though, he had to tell the truth.

* * *

><p>He had honestly meant it when he said that he was going to tell Dean everything, and share all of the secrets that he had been hiding. He never got the chance, though.<p>

It began when Castiel woke. He dressed and washed just like any other day, but when he emerged from the bathroom, Dean was on the phone. There was a hard expression on his face – his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes narrowed, clearly listening hard to whatever it was that the other person was saying.

Castiel remained still, watching Dean. His first thought was that Dean had finally reached his father, or that John Winchester had decided to respond to one of his son's many messages. But no, a moment later, Dean nodded and said, "Okay, thanks, Ash. You're awesome, man."

Dean hung up the phone, then immediately turned and started shoving clothes into his duffel.

"What did Ash find for you?" Castiel asked, taking a step closer.

"Could you go wake Sam up?" Dean asked. "I wanna be on the road in ten minutes. We'll stop for breakfast on the way."

Castiel shook his head, and moved even closer. "Is it something about the demon?" he demanded. No response. "I deserve to know, Dean."

"No, it's not about the demon, alright?" Dean snapped. "Not really, at least, just-" He stopped, and took a deep breath, and turned around. "Sorry," he said, looking Castiel straight in the eyes. "This is important, okay, I can promise you that. So, can you go make sure that Sam's awake?"

Castiel stared back at Dean for a long minute, unblinking. Then he nodded. "Alright," he said. "I'll go wake Sam."

"Thank you," Dean said, fervently enough that it dispelled any more of Castiel's doubts. Whatever was happening, it clearly mattered to Dean quite a bit, and Castiel lost the desire to fight. Instead, he simply turned to do as Dean had asked.

* * *

><p>They drove all day. Dean didn't let Sam take a turn driving in all of the thirteen hours that they spent in the car. Nor did he tell them where they were going, no matter how they tried to convince Dean to do so. Eventually, Castiel gave up on trying to learn their destination. Sam continued bothering Dean far longer than Castiel did, but Dean just set his jaw and didn't say a word.<p>

"You trust me, right?" Dean asked at one point.

Sam blinked, looking surprised. "Yeah, of course," he said, "but-"

"Then trust me when I say that this is something important," he said. "It matters to me, okay? So just stop asking and let me drive."

Sam had scowled and glared out the window after that, but Castiel noticed that he never again asked about where they were going.

They stopped three times – once for gas, once for food, and once for both. It had just been growing light when they had left the motel, and it was already dark again when Dean began driving through a small town and pulled into the parking lot of a small motel, just like any of the other motels that they slept in.

"What, we're not going to keep driving all night?" Sam asked, sounding somewhat sarcastic. Dean didn't even acknowledge him.

The three of them climbed out of the car. Sam and Castiel immediately began heading for the front desk, but stopped after a few steps when they realized that Dean wasn't following them.

"Hey, Dean, man!" Sam called, turning around to look at his brother. "Don't we need to check in?"

Dean didn't respond, and didn't slow down. Castiel and Sam exchanged a look, then followed after him.

Dean headed straight to one of the doors, and stopped in front of, then suddenly didn't do anything more. He simply stared at it, something akin to fear and anticipation mingling on his face.

"Dean?" Castiel asked slowly. "What are you doing?"

"You'll know in a second," Dean said, then turned to Sam. "And don't be mad at me, okay? Trust me, Sam, we gotta do this. I gotta do this."

"Mad at you?" Sam repeated, looking more confused than ever. "Dean, what the hell are you even doing?"

Instead of answering, Dean turned to look at the door again. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, then knocked twice.

They all waited, listening to the movement from inside the motel. A second later, the door opened, revealing a man standing there, blinking at them. He was someone that the Winchesters knew, judging by the shocked look that immediately crossed Sam's face, and the way that the man asked, "Dean? Sam? What the hell are you two doing here?"

Castiel glanced around at the other three, wondering when exactly someone was going to explain the exact same thing to him.

Then Dean swallowed hard and said, quietly, "Dad."


	21. Part 1, Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 20**

John Winchester frowned at the three of them, which made Castiel frown right back at him. He would have expected the man to be happier about being able to see his sons again, even if he hadn't been trying to reach them. But John did step back, allowing them to enter the room.

"How'd you find me?" John asked, closing the door behind them.

"Yeah, that's a good question," Sam said sharply, and turned to shoot an almost angry look at Dean.

Dean shrugged. "Got a friend," he said. "Name's Ash. He lives at the Roadhouse with Ellen and Jo. I got him to do a spell." His eyes flickered to Castiel for just a moment.

John nodded. "Yeah, I know that kid," he said. "Haven't seen him in years, but he's helped me out before." He gestured around the room. "Might as well take a seat, as long as you're here."

Dean nodded, and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, sitting stiffly with his back straight and his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Castiel hurried to sit as well, seating himself next to Dean. Something about John was making Castiel strangely nervous. He was sure that that must be a ridiculous feeling, considering that he was Sam and Dean's dad, so surely there was no reason to be uncomfortable around him.

But then he remembered what Sam had said about John leaving his son to die. His fists clenched, and he scooted even closer to Dean. Now, though, he wasn't as certain whether he wanted to stay so close for his own sake, or if it was because he wanted to be there if John said or did anything more that hurt Dean. Perhaps a mixture of the two.

Sam didn't sit. He just crossed his arms and turned toward John, the same glare on his face as the one that he had sent to Dean. Or, no, this glare was significantly stronger, Castiel noticed.

"I never told you to track me down," John said, walking over to take and grabbing a chair, spinning it around so that he could sit down and still face his sons.

Dean nodded, looking nervous in a way that he never usually did. "Yeah, I know," he said. "It's just, you weren't answering my phone calls."

John narrowed his eyes. "There was a reason for that," he said. "We decided that there was no reason for you boys to get involved with this demon."

"No," Sam said, causing John to turn his disapproving look in Sam's direction. "You decided that we weren't going to be involved," Sam said, then added, "You know that that's not going to work, right? Whatever is out there, it's not going to leave me alone just because you tell it to."

"That won't be a problem for much longer," John said dismissively.

Dean looked at him sharply. "Wait, does that mean that you have it?"

John frowned slightly, and shook his head. "Not yet," he said, "but I'm close." Then he pointed one hand toward the door. "And you boys need to leave."

"What?" Sam demanded. "No way. You gotta tell us what you've figured out."

Once again, John turned and gave Sam a severe look. Sam just scowled and didn't flinch, or back down.

"I'm surprised that you want to ask for my help," John said. "Honestly, I thought that you'd made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me."

Sam just narrowed his eyes, sending John's glare right back at him, tenfold. And even though that had been exactly what Sam had been saying before, now he just nodded and said, "We're here now. I want to know what you know, then we'll be gone, to go work on this case by ourselves."

"Come on," Dean suddenly said. "We drove all day to get here. Might as well stick around for a while, tell each other what we know and see if we can figure this thing out."

This time, when John looked at Dean again – his angry, disapproving expression not changing – Dean stiffened even more, and almost seemed to wilt under his father's gaze, like he was growing smaller. Castiel leaned forward slightly, concerned, and reached out to place one hand on Dean's arm, trying to silently ask if he was alright. Dean shrugged him off.

For the first time, John turned his attention to Castiel. "And who's this?"

"Jimmy Novak," Sam said immediately, before either Dean or Castiel could get the chance to respond. "He's a friend of ours."

"Right," John said, giving Dean and Castiel a long look, then asked Sam, "And how long have you known this friend?"

"Long enough," Sam said, voice hard. He was making it clear that Castiel's presence here was not up for debate, and Castiel felt a rush of gratitude for him. "Why?" Sam added. "You know something that we don't?" But even as he said it, there was something in his voice – something mocking, almost. Whatever it was, it was obvious that Sam thought that the answer would have to be no, as if he thought that there wasn't anything that John could possibly know about Castiel that would cause him to lose their trust.

John shook his head. "No, I don't know anything about him," he snapped. "I've never even seen him before in my life, that's exactly the problem. We don't know who he could be, and now you want to get him involved in this?"

Sam shot Castiel a look, nodding in a way that was almost encouraging, and Castiel thought that he understood what Sam wanted. So he faced John, ready to speak up in his defense. He was going to promise that he would never in his life do anything to hurt either Sam or Dean, that there was no force in the world that could make him do such a thing, and to swear that he could be trusted.

Then Dean looked over at Castiel and said, "Wait, I thought that you two worked a case together?"

For a moment, Castiel swore that the motel room was completely silent, to the point where he couldn't even hear the other's breathing, and could only make out the faint cry of _four days_ in the back of his mind. Everyone in the room was staring at him. Dean and Sam both looked genuinely confused, with maybe a small amount of suspicion appearing in their eyes and seconds ticked past without Castiel answering. John Winchester, though, looked at him completely differently than his sons did. There was no attempt to hide his suspicion, or to even pretend that he felt any trust for Castiel at all.

There was nothing that Castiel could say that could make this better. He could lie, but John would reveal his deceit immediately – and more than that, Castiel didn't actually wish to deceive either of them. But even though he had planned on revealing the truth to Sam or Dean, he had not planned on doing it quite this soon, or quite like this.

They were all still watching him, waiting to hear what he had to say. But there was nothing, and no way to defend his actions.

Castiel knew that he should just come out and confess his lies right now, before he made it any worse. But his throat felt dry, and his tongue seemed to be made of lead. He couldn't make the words come out.

So instead, he made the worst decision that he could have in that moment.

He turned and left the room.

The moment that the night air hit Castiel's skin, he wished that he could take back his decision. All that he had done was eliminate his chance at explaining to Sam and Dean, and cemented his guilt. He was sure that neither of them would trust him again after this, and he was suddenly struck with what a loss like that would mean. Part of him couldn't help but worry over where he would go, and where he would sleep without them. But it went beyond that. Their friendships meant more to him than the safety that their motel rooms gave him, and that was the one thing that he couldn't imagine losing.

He must have, though. This would not be easily forgiven.

Then he heard from behind him, "Jimmy!"

It was Dean's voice, and when he turned, he saw Sam and Dean exiting the motel room, and walking toward him. John was not with him, and neither man wore a look of betrayal or anger, as Castiel had been expecting. Instead, they looked more worried than anything else.

That would change once he had explained, Castiel was sure. But for the moment, it was nice to see, at least.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, stepping toward him, one hand raised like he was almost – but not quite – reaching out for Castiel.

Castiel shuffled his feet, and didn't answer. He couldn't even look the two of them in the eyes.

"I'm going to go get a motel room," Sam suddenly announced. "You two talk," he added, and left without saying another word, almost before Castiel ha even comprehended what he was doing. It took him only another moment to realize it, though. Sam was allowing him and Dean to speak alone.

That was a nice gesture, Castiel thought. It even gave him hope that maybe the brothers would still be willing to accept him, despite everything. It didn't seem likely, but he wanted to believe.

"Jimmy?" Dean asked after a moment.

Castiel looked up, meeting Dean's eyes. They were standing under a streetlight, giving Castiel more than enough light to clearly see Dean's features. "In my defense," he began slowly, "I never did claim that I had worked with your father, only that I knew of him, and that I was investigating the same demon that he has been hunting." He paused, then admitted, "Although, I did know that you and your brother had assumed otherwise, and I did nothing to dispel your assumption, so I suppose that I can't be defended much."

Dean, though, nodded slowly. "Yeah, I remember that now," he said. "You're right, you never actually said that you knew Dad."

Castiel watched him closely, searching for any sign that Dean had forgiven him, and wasn't quite sure if he found it or not. To be honest, he didn't have the slightest clue what the emotions in Dean's eyes meant.

"Why, though?" Dean suddenly asked. "Why'd you let us keep thinking that?"

Castiel took a deep breath. "I wanted to continue hunting with you," he said. "I didn't have anywhere else to go, as you knew. And it seemed as though you would be more inclined to allow me to remain with you if I had been a hunting partner of your father. It seemed to make you trust me more. That was my only reason for the deception."

Again, Dean nodded. "And are you lying to us about anything else?"

"Yes," Castiel admitted. The word was incredibly difficult to say, even though he tried his best to act as though the word came easily, to try to hide the way that his insides were squirming with fear that Dean would want nothing else to do with him now.

Dean, though, just shrugged and leaned back against the Impala, tilting his head back to look up at the streetlight. "Yeah, I kinda figured," he said. "I mean, we agreed on it, didn't we? I keep my secrets, you keep yours." Something about the way that he spoke made Castiel think that that wasn't the end, though. That Dean was going to say something more. So Castiel simply moved forward to lean against the trunk of the car with Dean, and watched him, waiting. Sure enough, it was only a few seconds more before Dean turned to him and asked, "Jimmy? What the hell is going on with you?"

Castiel squared his shoulders and decided that, this time, he would do nothing to be deceptive. He would not mislead Dean with half truths, or say things that could be deliberately misconstrued. He had known that he would have to be honest eventually. Now would be the time.

The thought was terrifying, though, and he had to swallow hard before asking, "What, specifically, do you mean?"

"I mean," Dean said, and thought for a second before finishing, "Where the hell did you come from?"

That was a simple question, at least. Simple in that Castiel knew the answer, even though it wouldn't be easy to make himself say it. But he made himself continue to look toward Dean's face – even waited until Dean turned to look at him again – and said, as clearly as he could, "I'm not sure."

Dean was confused, that much was clear. He didn't understand. But he didn't ask, just waited for Castiel to continue.

Castiel cocked his head to one side, considering the best way to go about explaining this. "The name Jimmy Novak is fake, I think," he began, then quickly amended, "It did seem simpler to just introduce myself by that name, though, since I have the ID that calls me that. And I guess I have no proof that the ID is faked, except for the fact that it just... doesn't feel right to me."

"What's your real name, then?" Dean asked. There was still confusion in his voice – he didn't know what Castiel meant – but also worry and concern now, and several other emotions that Castiel couldn't identify.

"I..." Castiel hesitated. "I suppose I can't actually be certain of that, either," he finally admitted. "But I chose the name Castiel. That's how I think of myself, usually, and I feel like it fits me better than Jimmy. Though, again, I suppose I could be called either."

"Castiel," Dean repeated slowly. "That angel name."

"Yes," Castiel said.

Dean just waited, clearly expecting Castiel to say more.

"I woke up approximately two weeks before we met," Castiel said. "I did not know who I was, or where I had come from. I suppose you could say that I... that I panicked somewhat. I left the room that I was in – it had been a hotel room, I'm reasonably sure – and didn't look around well enough to know how to get back to it. So I stayed on the streets for a while, until I learned of a men's shelter where I could stay."

Dean was silent for a long minute. "Okay," he finally said, slowly. "Say I believe that. Stranger things have happened, right? I mean, about the time that you were waking up with your mind wiped, I was waking up after being healed from certain death by some freakyass glowing light that we still don't know what the fuck it was, so as far as weird stories go, I think that mine wins." He paused again, then said, "But the how the hell did you know to come looking for us? And how do you know about our dad?"

"I am not sure," Castiel said, choosing to answer the second question first. "I had never known anything about your father, until I began to hear you speak of him. Then, it was as though the name suddenly appeared in my head." He frowned. "My theory is that something you said began to trigger my memories to return, and I had hoped that staying with you might allow my memories to return further."

"And did it work?" Dean asked.

Castiel's frown deepened. "To a certain extent, yes," he said. "Not as much as I would've hoped."

"Well, ain't that shitty," Dean said, the took a deep breath. "Okay, I believe you."

Castiel watched him closely. "Are you certain?"

"Yeah," Dean said, and let out a huff of breath. "You told me that you had secrets, remember? I mean, fuck, I thought that they'd be something a lot simpler than this, like you were just using us to help with some freaky vengeance mission to kill your family's murderer, or that you were a psychic or a witch or something."

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "And you believe that those would be simple secrets?"

"Well, yeah," Dean said. "At least that'd be somewhat normal."

Castiel couldn't help but chuckle at that. It seemed as though Dean's view of what was normal was highly skewed. Although, then again, Castiel was certain that his own views were skewed in the same way after just a few weeks of hunting, so he supposed that Dean would barely know what normal was supposed to look like after hunting for his whole life.

Dean smiled back, then glanced over toward the motel building and gestured for Castiel to do the same. "Sam's finished getting the room," he said, and Castiel glanced over in time to see Sam unlock a door and enter, turning back just long enough to make sure that Dean and Castiel saw him before closing the door behind him. "We should probably grab our stuff and go get moved in."

"Yes," Castiel agreed, and stepped away from the car. Dean popped the trunk, and they both grabbed their bags – with Dean throwing Sam's duffel over his other shoulder – then locked up the car again.

Before they took a step toward the motel, though, Dean turned to Castiel. "One more thing," he said. "Are you hiding anything else?"

Only the fact that he heard voices.

Only the biggest secret out of all of the things that he had been trying to hide.

"Yes," Castiel said. "One."

Dean nodded thoughtfully, then asked, "You want to tell me what it is now?"

"Not particularly, no," Castiel said honestly, though he was quick to add, "but I will, if you would like me to."

He meant it, too, despite how worried he was. But if Dean could listen to the other things that Castiel had told him and not wish to send him away, then perhaps this last secret would be alright, too. He could hope, at least, even if he still wasn't certain.

Dean, though, just shook his head. "Nah," he said, hoisting the bags higher on his shoulders. "If you tell me all of your secrets, then I'm going to feel bad about not sharing mine, and we can't have that." He turned to Castiel with a grin that only looked the slightest bit forced, then nodded toward the motel room. "Come on, Jimmy."

They both took a few steps forward, but then Dean stopped. Castiel paused as well, tilting his head as Dean turned to look at him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I guess I should call you Castiel, now, huh?" he asked.

"You don't have to," Castiel said. "I have grown used to responding to the name Jimmy. It doesn't bother me at all."

"Yeah, but that's not the name you prefer, right?" Dean asked, and Castiel nodded, feeling compelled to answer honestly. The name Jimmy just never felt right to his ears, as though he still were not used to hearing it.

Dean thought for a moment, then nodded back. "Okay, then, Cas," he said. "Come on, let's go back to the motel before Sammy steals the good bed."

Dean started to walk. Castiel, though, remained where he was. "Cas?" he asked.

"It's a nickname," Dean said, glancing over his shoulder. "Figured it didn't sound as pretentious and shit as Castiel did. You like it?"

He considered it for a moment, but it didn't take him more than a few seconds to begin to smile. "Yes, I think that I enjoy that nickname."

"Well, good," Dean said, then turned and kept walking. "Then let's go."

And Cas nodded, then continued smiling to himself as he followed Dean to the motel, feeling as though he were practically floating from the strength of the relief that ran through him as he realized that Dean still accepted him, he still had a place to stay, and his friends had not left him, despite everything.

* * *

><p>It seemed as though that night was made up almost entirely of secret conversations between two people while the third was in the bathroom.<p>

It began with Sam insisting that Cas should take the first shower. Sam didn't try to keep his reasons a secret. "I want to talk to Dean in private," he said simply.

Cas had agreed, of course, and lingered under the shower's spray for as long as he could. Normally, he wouldn't take up nearly as much time – the hot water in motel rooms was typically limited, and he didn't want to use it up before the Winchesters had gotten a chance. But today, though, he figured that it was allowed, perhaps even preferable. As long as the water was still slowing over him, it did a good job of blocking out the Winchester's voices.

So obviously he did not know what the two brothers spoke about, but Dean must have shared Cas' story at some point. As soon as he exited the bathroom, dressed in his sleep clothing, Dean headed off to take his own shower, and Sam looked straight at Cas and said, "So, uh, Castiel."

"Yes?' Cas asked, lowering himself into a chair to sit and face Sam.

For a moment, Sam didn't respond, then he said, slowly, "I guess I can see why you wouldn't want to tell us all of that as soon as we met."

Cas frowned. He had spent so much time worrying about how Dean would react, he had barely given a thought to Sam being upset with him. Now, though, he was worried. After all, the deception had affected the younger Winchester brother as much as the elder one. He quickly scooted his chair forward, moving his chair closer to Sam, and leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, watching Sam intently. "I'm sorry," he said honestly, hoping that Sam would be able to tell how deeply he meant it. "I did not mean to harm anyone with my deception."

Sam hesitated for a minute, then nodded. "Yeah, I got that," he said. "It's fine."

Cas relaxed, utterly relieved. He wasn't entirely sure what he would've done if Sam was angry with him, or if he had lost Sam's friendship.

"Dean definitely believes everything that you said, anyway," Sam added after a moment, then added, "You know, I meant what I said before, about you being good for Dean and all that."

Cas tilted his head. "I hope that I am," he said after a long moment. "I hope that I'm helpful to you and your brother." He frowned, and added, "I believe that I can tell you now, I mean it when I say that you and Dean are the closest to a family that I can ever remember happening."

Sam smiled. Not a happy smile, not exactly, but it was something. "Aren't you curious, though?" he asked. "Don't you want to do something to figure out where you came from?"

"I thought that I was," Cas said. "I'm guessing that Dean told you that hints of my memories have been returning?" Sam nodded, and Cas added, "It isn't a lot, but I think that it is helping, at least."

"That's good," Sam said, "but do you want to do anything more? I mean, I could help you do some research online. If you went missing from somewhere when your memories disappeared, then there's got to be an article online somewhere. And you said that Jimmy Novak was an alias, right? But it might still be a place to start."

Cas considered that. It was the same offer that Father Garcia had made back at the men's shelter all those weeks ago. And now, just like then, Cas found himself tempted. And nerve wracking.

"That does sound like a good idea," he admitted slowly. "Perhaps not right now, though?"

Sam had already been reaching for his laptop, but now he paused, turning to Cas with a confused expression.

"With everything that has happened lately, and the fact that we are in the midst of hunting the demon with your father-" He hesitated over the exact wording, then finally finished, "This seems like it would be too much."

Sam looked at him for a long minute, then nodded. "Yeah, I can see that," he said after a moment, then pushed his laptop to the side again. "Okay. But if you ever do want to figure it out, let me know."

"I will," Cas said seriously, then frowned to himself for a moment before deciding to ask the question that was bothering him. Part of him worried that this would be considered an invasion of Dean's privacy, but all the same, he had to ask. "Do you know anything about the secret that Dean is keeping?"

Instantly, Sam stiffened and sat up, looking far more alert than he had a moment ago. "No," he said. "What secret?"

"I'm not sure," Cas said slowly. "When we first began to date – not counting the first time we had sex a week earlier – we agreed that we were both fine with the fact that the other person had secrets that they weren't sharing. I suppose that that is why Dean wasn't more angry when he learned the truth earlier this evening." He tilted his head, frowning deeper. "And when we were speaking outside, he mentioned the secret again. I was wondering if you knew what it was?"

"No," Sam said, also frowning now, looking like he was thinking hard about something. "I'll see what I can figure out."

"I don't want to betray his privacy by trying to find the answer," Cas said quickly. Especially since Dean had allowed him to keep his last secret – the angels' voices – despite knowing the severity of the other secrets that Cas had kept.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, then added, "but you're not going to be the one to look. Trust me, brothers are allowed to go snooping into each other's business."

Cas thought about that for a minute, and then he smiled, relieved. Despite what he had said about respecting Dean's privacy, he was worried about whatever it was that Dean could be hiding. He wasn't particularly worried about the idea that it could be something that would make Cas not wish to be with him any longer – he didn't think that that was a possibility – but he did worry that it might be something serious, something that Dean shouldn't be dealing with alone, whatever it was. So he looked Sam in the eyes now and said, fervently, "Thank you."

"No problem," Sam said, but Cas was already shaking his head, cutting him off.

"I mean this with complete sincerity," he said. "And I am not just talking about the offer to search for whatever Dean is hiding." He took a deep breath, phrasing his words carefully. "Thank you for not being angry with me, and for being my friend. I hope that I don't have to tell you that I cherish our friendship just as much as I cherish my relationship with Dean."

Sam looked as though he hadn't been expecting all of that, but Cas thought that the expression on his face was a good one. "Thanks," Sam said, then added, "You've been a good friend, too, you know."

Cas smiled, but felt as thought the moment required something more. After a moment, he stood and stepped toward Sam, feeling slightly awkward as he did so, but only slightly.

"Cas?" Sam asked – apparently Dean's nickname had spread. "What are you-?"

Cas wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders, which was awkward and uncomfortable, because Sam was still sitting on the edge of his bed, which meant that Cas had to bend over. Luckily, Sam was tall enough that he didn't have to bend far. "I am giving you a hug," he said simply, then frowned. "Isn't that the way to express friendship and emotion?"

Sam chuckled softly. "Yeah, I guess," he said, then after a moment, he lifted one arm to hug Cas back.

The bathroom door opened then. "Oh, come on, I leave the room for two minutes and you start cuddling with my boyfriend behind my back?" Dean asked.

Cas could tell from the tone of Dean's voice that he wasn't serious, not even so, Cas did quickly remove his arms from Sam and step back. Then he turned to look over at Dean. "I will cuddle with you instead, if you prefer."

Sam just snorted, and Dean looked amused as well. Cas took that as a good sign, and walked over to wrap his arms around Dean. It was an awkward angle, just as his hug with Sam had been, with Dean's arm and shoulder pressed against Cas' chest and Cas' arms stretched out all the way in front of him in order to circle Dean's entire body. And it didn't help that Dean was laughing instead of hugging him back.

"I'm going to go get ready," Sam said, jumping to his feet and grabbing his duffle. "You'd better have left me some hot water."

"No promises," Dean called over his shoulder as Sam headed into the bathroom, making Cas feel slightly guilty about how much of the water he had used. The door slammed behind Sam, and Dean grinned, then turned to look at Cas. "Hey."

"Hello," Cas said back. Dean gestured toward the second bed, and Cas nodded, releasing Dean so that they could both go over and sit on it. Dean leaned back against the headboard, legs stretched in front of him, while Cas sat cross-legged beside him, turned so that he and Dean faced each other.

"I take it that your talk with Sam went well?" Dean asked.

Cas nodded. "Very well," he said. "He seemed… accepting of the fact that I had been lying about my past. It was more than I could hope for."

"Oh, trust me, he was freaking out when I first told him," Dean said. "He calmed down pretty quickly, though."

Cas frowned, suddenly feeling far more uncertain about the way that Sam had reacted. "But you're sure that he isn't upset?"

"Oh yeah," Dean said quickly, and shrugged, rubbing one shoulder and looking only slightly uncomfortable as he said, "I mean, I'm sure he wishes that you'd told him sooner and all that, but what's he going to do? You're family, man. He got over it."

Cas smiled, feeling as though Dean's words were filling him up inside. He liked to be considered the Winchesters' family, and he thought that he would never stop being grateful that they saw him this way.

"I told Sam that you were hiding a secret," Cas said after a moment. "Or, I asked him if he knew anything about your secret, and he didn't know what I was referring to, so I had to explain." He wasn't sure if he should be saying this or not. After all, it might be easier for Sam to discover what had Dean was hiding if Dean didn't know that Sam was trying to figure it out, and Cas very much wanted Sam to figure it out – for Dean's sake, more than anything else. But after everything that Dean had done, it didn't seem fair not to at least warn him. And he didn't want Dean to feel as though his trust had been betrayed.

Dean's face darkened, but he shook his head. "Fine," he said shortly. "Just don't expect me to go telling him, okay?"

Cas hesitated. "Whatever it is, it can't be so serious that you have to keep it from us."

"It is," Dean said shortly, and looked away. "I don't know what the last thing that you're hiding is, but trust me, mine is worse. You don't want to know what it is."

"That's not true," Cas said at once. "Whatever your secret is, I promise you that it will not make me think any less of you. I would much rather face this together."

Dean just nodded, and if that meant anything to him, he didn't let it show on his face. "Thanks," he said shortly, then stood and walked away. They only had one room, so it wasn't as though he could go far. If Cas wanted to, it would be easy to follow after Dean, to force him to continue this conversation.

He didn't, though. He could tell that Dean wouldn't be happy if he was forced into a discussion, and after the way that Dean had accepted the fact that Cas was keeping secrets, he had no choice but to do the same.

But he would figure it out, he promised himself. Whatever was worrying Dean, he would discover it, and they would face it out together.

He didn't know how he was going to accomplish this. All he knew was that he would figure it out, for Dean.

Cas nodded to himself with determination, then settled into the bed to go to sleep. It was only another moment before Dean joined him, sliding into bed behind Cas and wrapping his arms around him. It took Dean barely five minutes before his breathing grew steady and his arms relaxed as he slept, but Cas remained awake for far longer than that, his mind whirling with the events of the day.

"I am going to find your secret, Dean Winchester," Cas whispered aloud, precisely because he knew that Dean could not hear him. "And I am going to save you."


	22. Part 1, Chapter 21

**CHAPTER 21**

Given the way that John Winchester had acted the night before, Cas wouldn't have been surprised if he had disappeared sometime in the night, to go off and fight the demon somewhere where they wouldn't be able to find him.

Apparently Dean had the same idea, because when Cas woke, Dean was no longer in the bed beside him.

Cas pushed himself up, looking around the room. Sam was still in his own bed, curled up on his stomach, eyes closed and snoring. Dean, though, didn't appear to be anywhere in the room. Nor was the bathroom door closed, so he couldn't be in there. Cas frowned and walked around the room, just to be certain. Then he slipped on his shoes and left the motel.

The Impala was still parked where they had left it, but it had been turned around, as if Dean had pulled out and then backed into the same space so that the front of the car was now pointed toward the motel instead of away from it. Dean was stretched out in the passenger seat, his head propped up on his hand, fast asleep.

Cas tried to open the door, but it was locked, so he knocked lightly against the window until Dean jerked awake. He blinked around for a moment, seeming unsure of where he was. Then his eyes landed on Cas.

Cas gestured to the lock, and Dean nodded, then unlocked the car. Cas slipped around to the driver's seat and climbed inside, settling down beside Dean. "Keeping watch?"

Dean nodded, then made a face. "I was supposed to be," he said, then shook his head and rubbed his eyes. After a moment, he gestured to the car parked beside him. "That's dad's. This way he couldn't leave without talking to me."

Cas nodded slowly. "Did he try?"

Dean shrugged. "He left the motel room about midnight," he said, "but he went back to his room after he saw me here. I'm guessing he didn't want to have a fight about it in the middle of a sketchy parking lot at night." He snorted, though there wasn't any humor in the sound. "He's probably going to give me shit about that later."

"Did you sleep at all?" Cas asked, reaching over to place his hand on Dean's knee. "Besides just now, I mean."

Dean thought for a moment, and shrugged. "Think I dozed off for about half an hour somewhere around two," he said, then added, "Last I checked, it was about four-thirty."

Cas looked at the time now. It was only slightly after six. "That was not enough sleep," he pointed out.

Dean just waved that off. "It's fine," he said. "I've gotten by with less than that."

Cas frowned. "You wanted to make sure that he didn't leave so badly?"

Dean's mouth pressed together into a thin line. "Yeah," he said, then didn't add anything more.

Cas thought about asking more about why Dean would care so much, considering the way that John had acted toward him, both the night before and especially when Dean had been in the hospital. He didn't, though. He was fairly certain that this feeling wasn't logical, and that is might be something that he couldn't understand, considering that he wasn't entirely sure what it felt like to have a family, or a father.

Instead, he just squeezed Dean's knee, then opened his door to climb out. "We should both get dressed," he said, indicating the tee shirts and sweat pants – their usual sleep clothes – that both of them still wore. "I believe that there is a coffee pot in the motel room. I'm sure that that will help with your exhaustion. Then we can go over to your father's room as soon as Sam is awake."

Dean gave him a tight smile. "Thanks, Cas," he said, following him out of the car.

Cas just nodded and reached for Dean's hand as they walked back to the motel room.

* * *

><p>John Winchester wasn't happy when Sam, Dean, and Cas showed up on his doorstep half an hour later. And it was obvious that he was going to protest, particularly about Cas' presence. At least, that was the impression that he got, based on the way that John looked at him when he opened the door.<p>

Sam spoke first.

"Listen, dad," Sam said, his voice low, "whatever is happening to me and the kids like me, I have a right to know about it, okay? We all just want to figure this out. And he-" he indicated Cas "-is a friend of ours, and he's been researching Azazel, too. He's got as much a right to know as either of us. So can we just come in and get to work on this, before some freakin' demon comes and kidnaps me in my sleep?"

John's face got steadily angrier and angrier as Sam spoke. At the last sentence, though, he stopped, his expression shifting into something unreadable. "You know about that, then."

Dean nodded. "We were working a case," he said. "Pair of twins with psychic powers, one of them went psycho and started killing people. They both vanished before we got the chance to do anything, all of the people around them were killed."

John looked almost thoughtful for a moment, then stepped back, allowing them into the room. "Alright, fine," he said. "I'll show you what I've got."

He had a laptop open at the table. John sat down, and Sam immediately took the seat across the table, setting his own laptop case onto the ground beside him and immediately turning John's laptop around so that he could see it. Dean and Cas stood behind him, reading over his shoulder. Sam scrolled through it fast – fast enough that Cas had difficulty reading it – then asked, in a shocked voice, "What is this?"

"It's a list of all the psychic children, and what's happened to them," John said, reaching forward and turning the laptop so that all four of them could see it. "One hundred kids exactly. So far, forty-eight of them have vanished. Four of them are ones that just disappeared last night. I was just confirming the news reports when you walked in."

"Wait," Dean said, his voice just as incredulous as Sam's. "You managed to track down them all? Every single one? How did you even do that?"

John just looked at Dean. "You think you're the only one with connections?"

Dean frowned, and shook his head. Then he said, "Seriously, though, this is incredible."

John inclined his head slightly, but otherwise, he didn't acknowledge what Dean had said.

"Wait," Sam suddenly said, and pulled the laptop closer to him to get a better look. "Is there a pattern to when they start going missing? Because if we can figure out who's going to be next, then we can figure out a way to stop it."

Dean's eyes widened as well as he caught on. "And then we'd know where to go in order to kill the bastard."

"Exactly," John said, looking proud for about half a second before he yanked the laptop away from Sam and shut it. "That's what I'm working on. You two need to get back to hunting, let me track this down."

Sam didn't even acknowledge that. "Have you figured out the pattern yet or not?" he asked, then – apparently assuming that the answer was no – he added, "What info do you have on all of the missing persons? Let me see if I can figure anything out."

John just shook his head. "It's great to see you boys again," he said, "but you need to leave now. I'll come find you when this is all over."

Sam shook his head, arms crossed, the look on his face saying that he wasn't going to give in or change his mind. "I'll tell you one thing," he said, his voice almost an exact copy of John's. "I wasn't the one who wanted to come find you. I said that we could hunt this thing on our own. But I'm not leaving until we at least get a copy of your research, so that we can figure this out."

John snorted. "You seem to be doing a good job on your own," he said, though this time, it definitely wasn't pride in his voice. "You've already figured out about the disappearances, and even got the demon's name on your own."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Dean told me what the name is. Why even share it with him if you didn't want us to join the hunt?"

John frowned. "I-" he began to say.

Dean cut him off, stepping forward so that he was between Sam and John. "Can you two just stop fighting for two seconds so we can focus on the important stuff?"

Sam took a deep breath and nodded, leaning back in his chair, while John just set his jaw, not looking happy about Dean's interruption.

"Come on, Dad," Dean said, looking over at John. He caught the angry look that his father was aiming for him, and Cas swore that he saw Dean flinch slightly, but he took a deep breath and continued, "We drove all day to get here. Just let us stick around for a little longer."

There was something off about his voice. And his words. Actually, everything about Dean's appearance was odd at that moment. His hands were stuck in his pockets, his entire body stiff and radiating discomfort. And his voice wavered a little halfway through his request. It was slight, to the point where you wouldn't notice it unless you were listening for it. John didn't appear to notice – or, if he did, he didn't react to it in any way. Cas, though, frowned, and then turned toward Sam, who was watching Dean intently, also frowning. So he had heard it, too.

Cas wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that a second later, Sam said, "We can at least help you with the research, to figure out what's going on. Whether we actually go with you to kill the demon is something we can fight about once we know where it's going to be."

John frowned and shook his head. "Don't think I don't know you, Sam," he said. "If I tell you where this thing is going to be, you'll come after it whether I tell you to or not. You don't give a damn about following orders."

Sam's jaw clenched, anger flashing in his eyes. Cas felt the need to jump into the conversation, to try to argue on Sam and Dean's behalf and ease the tension that had fallen over the room. Given John's feelings toward him, however, he thought that his intervention would only make things worse. So he remained silent.

"I'll be good," Sam said. His voice was hard, sounding as if it physically pained him to say it.

John just shook his head, looking as though he doubted that. Sam's hands tightened around the arms of his chairs, and his shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, though it didn't appear to make him any calmer.

But a second later, John barked out, "Fine." He turned to Dean and added, "But I'm serious about you boys not taking a part in the actual hunt. You're helping with research only." He waited until Dean nodded, then said, "And I'm expecting you to keep Sam in line with this one."

Sam's angry look grew stronger, but he didn't say a word in protest. Dean's eyes flickered to Sam for a moment, then he swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Alright, then," John said, and pulled out a pile of papers. Some of them were newspapers, others looked to be official documentation, while the rest all appeared to be print outs of the file he kept on his computer. "Start with those. See if you can find the connection," he said, then gestured to the other side of the room. "You boys can work over there."

That's what they did. Dean picked up the stack of papers and spread them out on top of the bed, while John remained at the table, typing something on his laptop, though the computer was turned away from them, so they couldn't see what he was working on.

"Okay," Dean said in a low voice, looking over at Sam. "We know that forty-eight people have vanished already. So we start from the beginning, work our way through, see if anything jumps out at us?"

"Sounds good," Sam said, and reached for the piles of papers. "So, who was our first victim?"

"Here," Cas said, and pulled out a specific piece of paper that he had seen a few seconds earlier, when Dean had first placed the papers onto the bed. It appeared to be a list of all forty-eight of the children who had disappeared so far, with the date and time of their disappearance written beside it. John must have typed up the list himself as part of his research, or else gotten it from his mysterious contacts. "Amy Jones, Jordan Summer, Yvetta Herrera, and Myra Wong all vanished roughly two months ago," he said, then mentally counted and added, "The disappearance took place exactly fifty-six days ago."

John looked up sharply when he heard Cas' voice. Cas glanced over at him, catching the hard look that John sent him. So he still didn't approve of Cas being a part of this.

Cas just turned away, and looked down at the paper again. "It looks as though there's no way to be certain of who, exactly, was taken first," he said. "Two of them disappeared at around 9:15 and 9:30 PM, respectively. The rest of them don't have an exact time of disappearance, or even a close estimate, but we do know that all of their disappearances were approximated to take place somewhere between eight PM and eleven PM." He glanced up, looking over at the younger two Winchesters. "So they all vanished on the same day, at around the same time."

"That's the obvious part," John said, not looking up from his computer. "It's easy to figure out the pattern of when they all vanish. The question is, why, and in what order?"

Sam frowned and took a step closer to Cas, reaching out to take the paper with one hand and tilt it so that he could read it earlier. His eyes skimmed over the page, then widened slightly. "Every five days," he said, then turned to Dean and Cas, gesturing down at the page as he explained, "Look at the times of the disappearances, there's a pattern there."

Dean squinted at the page for a moment, skimming through it as well. Cas could see it on his face, the exact moment when he realized what Sam meant. "Four people have been going missing every five days for the past fifty-six days. Which means that another group of five is going to vanish-" he paused for a moment, as though he were counting the days "-this next Tuesday unless we figure out where they're going."

"Exactly," John said, still not looking for them. John didn't sound particularly pleased – his voice was more absent than anything else – but it still made Dean smile, looking almost proud of himself.

Then John added, "I figured that part out weeks ago, took me all of two seconds to get the connection. But that's not going to do jack shit unless we figure out where these people are going, or who's going to be taken next."

The proud look slid from Dean's face, and he nodded.

"Let's start with the first four, see what we can figure out from them," Sam said.

"Good idea," John said. "Just keep it down. I'm trying to focus on this." He shook his head, and added, "Don't bother me unless you figure out how to actually track down the demon."

Sam ignored his dad completely. Only the clenching of his jaw revealed that he had actually heard him. Sam pulled his laptop out of its case and sat down on the edge of the bed, beside the piles of papers. He glanced at the paper that Cas still held, then typed the name into his search engine and got to work.

"Come on," Dean said quietly to Cas, nodding at the papers. Cas nodded, and they both sat on the end of the bed as well, moving the pile of papers so that it was stacked between the two of them, and get to work going through the information that John Winchester had collected.

* * *

><p>"God," Dean groaned, rubbing his eyes. Cas couldn't help but nod in agreement. They had been sitting on the bed for the past four hours or so, barely speaking and moving around even less, pouring through the various papers while Sam frantically typed things into his laptop without telling anyone else what he was working on. Now, Dean stood and stretched his arms over his head, adding to Sam, "Please tell me that you've figured something out."<p>

Sam scowled down at his laptop screen. "There has to be a connection somehow," he said, more to himself than to anyone else. "There's got to be a pattern to how Azazel is picking his victims, but I can't figure out what it is."

"Figures," Dean said. "Even our resident geek boy's got nothing." He shook his head, then turned toward where John was still working. "What about you?" he asked. "Do you have anything?"

"No," John snapped, obvious frustration in his voice. He ran one hand through his hair, and added, "There was an ancient knife that was rumored to be able to kill demons, but it vanished about fifty years back. Absolutely no way to track it to where it might be now."

"Wait, knife?" Dean asked. "What about the Colt?"

John's mouth pressed together, and once again, anger took over his features. Cas got the impression that that had not been the right question to ask. "I don't have the Colt."

"Wait, what?" Sam asked, suddenly on his feet. "You're saying that you used the last bullet?"

"I'm saying that I never got the chance," John snapped, turning to glare at Sam. "It disappeared before I got the chance."

"Disappeared," Sam repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means whatever you think it means," John said. "I got back to the hospital room and it was gone. Never let go of it once, but it vanished right out of my bag."

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean said, holding up his hands. "Someone stole the Colt?"

"Not just someone," John snapped. "You think that I'd let anyone pickpocket me in the middle of the hospital? Whatever it was, it must've been something supernatural to get it away from me."

"So, demons have the Colt," Dean concluded, and covered his eyes and groaned. "Well, that's just great."

John made a face, obviously agreeing. "Don't have a single lead on where it could be," he said, voice tight. "I'm hoping it will surface eventually, but until then, I'm trying to see if there's another way."

Cas frowned. There was something about Dean's assessment that didn't seem quite right. "Perhaps the Colt was taken by whoever it was that healed Dean," he suggested slowly. "Someone who materialized as a glowing light and destroyed an entire roomful of machinery would likely be strong enough to take whatever it wanted."

John turned toward him, and despite the fact that Cas was reasonably certain that his assessment was logical, John did not look particularly happy. "So you know about that, too, huh?"

Cas frowned. "Your sons have shared with me the information that they believed to be helpful for finding the demon."

"And he's done the same with us," Sam added quickly, with a gesture toward Cas. "We've all been exchanging information, trying to figure this out as soon as possible." He crossed his arms suddenly, raising his eyebrows, his face holding a challenge. "Is this a problem?"

John shook his head, which Cas almost took to mean that there wasn't an issue, until John said, "I still don't like the idea of bringing an outsider into this."

"Cas isn't an outsider," Sam snapped. "He's been working with us for weeks now."

John's frown just deepened, his eyes cutting sharply toward Cas. "Oh, so he's Cas now, is he?" he asked. "Yesterday you told me that his name was Jimmy."

"It's both," Dean cut in quickly, and shrugged, though the gesture looked more like a nervous twitch than anything. It was not a gesture that Cas was used to seeing from Dean. "He goes by a couple different names."

"Not now, Dean," John said, almost absently, not looking away from Sam and Cas. Dean snapped his mouth shut tight and looked away, though Cas could see the way that his hands kept clenching and unclenching, as if he were trying not to ball them into fists.

"Mr. Winchester," Cas cut in, deciding that a formal approach would be the best. "I promise you, I would never do anything to harm either of your sons. I-"

John cut him off. "Tell me honestly," he said. "How much do you actually know about him?"

"Enough," Sam snapped, and narrowed his eyes at John without saying anything more.

John shook his head. "I don't think you do," he said. "And I don't want him being brought into a family matter like this."

"Dad-" Dean immediately protested. John looked at him, hard, and Dean didn't say anything more.

"Too bad," Sam said. "He's already a part of this."

"I told you," John said, hard, "this is for the family-"

"And since when have the three of us been a family?" Sam snapped. Up until now, it had been as though Sam had been holding his anger back carefully, keeping it under control. Now, it was as though his self-control had finally snapped, and suddenly, Sam was raging, making wide gestures with his arms and practically screaming at his dad. "You know what? I'm pretty sure I've seen Cas more often in the past four weeks than I've seen of you in four years. You haven't exactly wanted me to be a part of this family since I ran off to Stanford. Even when we were hunting the vampires or the demon together that didn't change. And you know what? I don't know everything about where Cas came from, but at least I'm sure about the fact that he would give a fuck if Dean was dying."

John's eyes narrowed. "And what are you accusing me of?"

"I don't need to accuse you of anything," Sam said, his voice going quieter, either consciously or unconsciously mimicking the dangerous tone in his dad's voice. "We already know what happened last time you had to choose between Dean's life and killing the demon."

John's face grew harder, if possible, until he looked as though he were carved from stone. Then his eyes flickered to Cas, and he said, "We can discuss this later, Sam."

Sam shook his head immediately. "Cas is my friend, and Dean's boyfriend." Out of the corner of his eye, Cas saw Dean flinch slightly when Sam revealed that. John, though, didn't react at all. He didn't appear to be surprised. "If you're going to say anything to me, then you can say it to all three of us."

For a second, Cas thought that John would. Then he just turned to Cas. "You need to leave," he said. "Now."

Cas glanced around at Sam and Dean. Sam was still glaring at his dad. Dean was looking away, his head turned away from Cas and his eyes locked on the carpet. Then Cas finally looked back to John. It was obvious from his expression that he was deadly serious.

"Fine," Cas said, and stood. He walked toward the door, his body stiff. He didn't want to remain here if he wasn't wanted, or to come between the younger Winchesters and their father – and this was what he had expected from the beginning, anyway. He had begun to believe that it wouldn't happen, but really, he shouldn't be surprised.

Even so, he moved as slowly as he could, hoping that he would be told not to go.

Then he heard it.

"Wait."

He froze, and slowly turned back around to face the Winchesters, feeling torn between relief and disappointment. He was grateful that his friends hadn't simply let him leave without saying anything. But all the same, he had been hoping that Dean would be the one to stop him.

"If Cas leaves, then I leave," Sam said, looking his dad straight in the eye.

John Winchester didn't even look bothered. "Fine," he said. "I've been telling you from the beginning that you and your brother shouldn't be involved with this."

Sam just slowly nodded. "Okay," he said, and bent to grab his laptop case. He closed his laptop and slid it into the case, then grabbed the papers and began shoving them roughly inside.

"Leave those," John said sharply.

Sam didn't acknowledge his dad at all, just zipped up the bag walked toward the door, where Cas still stood.

Dean was still standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at the floor.

"You know what?" John said. "If you walk out the door right now, then don't come back." He took a step closer to Sam, eyes blazing. "I told you before when you decided to run off to Stanford. This time, I mean it. Leave now, and you're not going to be allowed back into this family again."

Sam chuckled without any humor. "Trust me, I figured that out for myself," he said, then turned and looked at his brother, his voice abruptly going softer. "Dean? Are you coming?"

Dean clenched his jaw, and didn't respond.

They waited. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Cas counted them all in his head as they ticked by, waiting for Dean's answer, which never came.

Finally, Sam nodded. No words, just a nod and a disappointed look on his face, and then he turned to push the door open. "Let's go, Cas."

Sam left. Cas was right behind him, already halfway out the door, when he heard, "Yeah."

Cas turned around. Dean glanced over at them, then cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm coming," he said, and hurried after them, head down, not so much as glancing in their dad's direction.

Cas moved out of the way, allowing Dean to exit the motel room first. Then he followed after, and let the door slam closed behind him.

None of them spoke at they returned to their own room. By unspoken agreement, they didn't remain there long. Instead, they all just threw their bags over their shoulders and headed out to the Impala. Sam moved around to take the passenger seat, but Dean stopped him.

"Here," he said, pulling the keys out of his pocket and shoving them into Sam's hands. "You drive."

Sam blinked down at the keys. "You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, and moved past Sam without another word, then climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.

Cas and Sam exchanged a look, but neither of them said a word, and if he was being honest, Cas wasn't entirely sure what they were even trying to express to each other with their glances, other than concern. Then Sam turned and headed for the driver's seat, and Cas slid into the back seat, as always.

All of them remained silent as they headed down the road.

* * *

><p>There wasn't a destination in mind. Or, at least, Cas assumed that there wasn't. Sam always seemed to know where he was going, but Cas couldn't be entirely sure if that was because he knew exactly where he wanted to end up, or because he didn't care one way or another.<p>

After about two hours, though, Sam pulled off the highway. It was early afternoon by now. Sam pulled into a restaurant parking lot and glanced over at Dean. "This is the chain that has those really good burgers that you like, right?" he asked, glancing over at Dean. "Figured this would be a good place to stop for lunch."

Dean nodded in acknowledgement, but otherwise didn't' respond. Though he did follow them when they climbed out of the car and headed inside.

Lunch was long, and uncomfortable, and quiet. Dean glared hard at the waitress, snapped when she messed up his order, and spent most of the mean glaring at the wall while Sam repeatedly apologized for Dean's behavior. Cas stayed still in his seat, wanting to say something to Dean, but also not wanting to do something wrong and upset Dean further. Beyond that, he was also fairly certain that Dean would not want to discuss any of this in public. Or, knowing Dean, he wouldn't wish to talk about this at all, but particularly not here.

Sam must have known the same thing, because the moment that the food arrived, he asked for three to-go boxes. Or maybe that was just to spare the waitress, who looked relieved when she saw that they were leaving. Cas noticed that Sam left her a large tip.

They drove to the nearest motel room and got a room, then brought their meals inside. The moment that the door swung shut behind them, Sam said, "Okay, man, I know that you're pissed, and honest? You've got a good reason to be. But you can't take it out on random people."

For a second, Cas thought that Dean would protest. Then he just sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah," he said, and nodded as if to say that he really had known that. He brought his to-go box over to the table and dropped down into the chair. Sam took the other chair, which was across from Dean. There were only two chairs seated by the table, so Cas sat in an oversized armchair that was part of a sitting area in the center of the room, sitting sideways in the chair so that he could continue to face the Winchesters.

For a second, everyone was silent. Cas decided that this would be a good time to voice the things that he had been thinking ever since they had left John's motel.

"Sam, Dean," he said slowly. "Thank you." Both boys turned to look at him, and he continued, "I know that that could not have been as easy decision, especially considering what I had just revealed about myself."

Sam shook his head. "No," he said, "I mean, I was serious, that stuff I said to Dad." He shrugged, then added, "Of course I'm with you."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Good old loyal Sammy." He sounded almost bitter as he spoke, though Cas couldn't tell why. Not until Dean added, "He's the only one you should be thanking."

Cas thought about that for a moment, and decided that he disagreed. "Sam did the most to stand up for me," he said, because that was true. "But you still agreed to come with us. I know that you had been desperate to find your dad. Giving that up must have been difficult for you."

"Yeah," Dean said, and was quiet for a long minute, until he added, "I didn't exactly do it for you."

Cas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that if Sam hadn't walked away, then I wouldn't have left," Dean said. This time, Cas could hear the anger in his voice, and he was pretty sure that Dean was directing it toward himself.

Cas took another minute to consider that. And he had to admit, the thought that Dean wouldn't have come after him- Well, it hurt, far more than he wanted Dean to ever know. Even so, he found himself answering honestly when he said, "Regardless of who you did it for, you still did it. And I'm grateful for that."

Dean shook his head. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice more like a challenge. "You're grateful that I didn't end up letting you leave even though I knew that you had nowhere to go? Yeah, that's really high standards to set for someone. Good job there, Cas."

"Dean-" Sam began.

"No," Cas said. "I do not expect you to give up your family – the man who raised you – for my sake. If Sam was the one who convinced you that you should be come with us, then I'm not going to begrudge that. As I said, I am grateful that you're here at all."

Dean didn't respond to that. Instead, he just tore open his box – ripping the Styrofoam to pieces in the process – and grabbed his burger, biting into it as if he were attempting to eat the entire thing at once.

"Seriously, man," Sam said. "Thank you. I mean, I know it wasn't easy. Hell, even I wouldn't have expected you to choose me over Dad."

Dean just swallowed, then shook his head at Sam. "Okay, we're gonna stow the mushy-gushy lovey-dovey crap, okay?" he said. "We've had enough of that already. Let's just work on something important, okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, okay," he said, and reached into his laptop case to pull out the papers. "Well, we could start with these," he said. "All of Dad's research on the Special Children. If we go through all of this, we've got to find something."

"Do you think that we might be in time to save the next group of children?" Cas asked.

Sam frowned down at the papers. "I don't know," he said, then squared his shoulders. "We've got three days until the next group is due to be stolen, though, so I say that we try."

* * *

><p>They worked for the rest of the day, trying to gather as much information as they could about all of the Special Children. Sam had a special skill for finding all sorts of facts about the people that he researched, and it hardly took him any time at all. But despite that, they still didn't find a way to connect the victims with the order of their kidnappings.<p>

They ordered a pizza for dinner, and ate slices while they continued to pore over the papers, not pausing long enough to sit down for a meal. Around eight o'clock, though, Dean began yawning. They'd been making coffee all day – Cas had lost count of how many pots they had brewed, or even how many cups he himself had drank – but by now, they had clearly reached the point where even the caffeine could not keep Dean awake for much longer, considering how little sleep he had gotten the night before.

That was when Sam stood and said, "We should call it a night."

Dean nodded and didn't argue, which was a testament to how tired he must have been, that he didn't even say a word in protest.

"I'm going to go get a separate room," Sam said. "In case you two want privacy." He paused a moment, watching Dean as he was waiting for confirmation. Dean didn't give it, but he also didn't argue, so finally, Sam left.

Like so many other things today, they got ready for bed in silence. It wasn't until they were in bed together with the lights off that Cas whispered, "Are you certain that you're alright?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I'd be a lot better if we could figure out what Azazel's fucking plan is, and how to keep Sam safe. But yeah, I'm fine."

Cas didn't believe it, but he didn't say that, either.

"What about you?" Dean asked after a minute. He reached up and rubbed his eyes with his knuckled, then asked, "Didn't you decide that you were going to tell me that big, bad last secret of yours? Still wish to share?"

"No," Cas said. "Not tonight." That was the last thing that Dean would need right now. Of that, Cas was certain.

And sure enough, Dean just nodded. "Okay," he said, and turned over onto his stomach, pressing his face against the pillow. Cas laid beside him, also turned over on his stomach, one arm stretched over Dean's back, holding him tight. He thought that Dean would like that, that it would help him to feel that Cas was right here.

Despite Dean's exhaustion, it was a long time before either of them fell asleep. Cas lay awake for hours, listening to the angels chatter. They were still speaking in the low, faded voices that made them difficult to understand, but somehow, the voices had never seemed so loud.

* * *

><p>They continued to go through the research. And they continued to find no sign of the pattern.<p>

Tensions were running short. It was clear that all of them were getting frustrated, but none of them wanted to stop, not when they knew how important it was.

Sam was the first one to suggest taking a break. "Maybe we should start looking for another case to work," he suggested, shoving the papers over to the side. By this point, it was the night after they had left John Winchester, and they had been pouring over the papers for a day and a half, with nothing to show for it.

Dean glanced up from his paper long enough to look at Sam, then lowered his eyes to the words again. "No," he said. "I don't want to go on a hunt right now."

"Seriously?" Sam asked. "You? Not wanting to go kill things?" He shook his head, then added, "It'd at least be a good distraction from whatever it is that we can't figure out. And we'll bring the research with us, it's not like we can't keep working on this. It might just be a good idea to, you know, do other stuff."

Dean didn't even respond, just flipped to a new piece of paper.

"Maybe we should go out for drinks," Cas suggested. They didn't have anything to celebrate, of course, but even so, he thought that drinking would lighten the mood a bit. Either that, or Dean would get drunk and begin talking about exactly what was bothering him so much, and why he acted as though the world would end if he didn't find the pattern within the next five minutes.

"Why?" Dean asked, and lifted his beer. They had stopped off earlier that day and bought a couple six packs at the same time that they had bought lunch. "We can drink here just fine."

"Yes, but we'd actually enjoy ourselves at a bar," Sam pointed out, and reached over to shake Dean's shoulder. "Come on, man. Let's go get wasted and hustle people. You love that, and anyway, we could use the money. Plus, it'll be good to clear your head for a bit, so we'll have a fresh start tomorrow."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, a fresh start while we're hungover," he said.

Sam frowned. "Since when are you the responsible one?" he asked.

"Since we don't have much time to figure this out, if you haven't noticed," Dean snapped, and threw the papers to the ground. They landed lightly, in a way that couldn't have been terribly satisfying. "Seriously, Sam, we only have two days left. We've got to get this now, before it's too late."

Sam frowned, and scooted his chair closer to Dean's. "You know, we've got no reason to think that I'm going to be in the next group to be taken," he said.

The voices in Cas' head sang, _Two days. Two days._

"And even if they do decide to come for me," Sam continued, then didn't finish. Instead, he pulled the leather bag that Bobby had given him from his pocket, holding it up so that Dean could see it. "And I know that you and Cas both carry yours," he said.

Dean nodded, his hand instinctively going to the pocket where Cas knew that he kept his. "We don't know that they're going to work, though," he said, voice harsh. "We can hope that we will, but we've got to prepare for the worst. And that means getting this thing figured out before it's too late."

"Again," Sam said. "Even if the bags don't work, we still don't know that they'll be coming after me."

"So you're okay with five other people getting kidnapped and taken to who knows where?" Dean demanded.

"No, of course not," Sam snapped. "But we have to admit that we can't always do anything about it. There's no sense driving ourselves crazy over this, or else we'll never be able to get it."

"Oh, we'll get it," Dean said, and reached for another handful of papers.

Sam shook his head.

_Two days_, the voices repeated.

"I agree with Dean," Cas said in a low voice.

He couldn't know for sure that the angels were speaking of Sam's kidnapping. But he didn't want to take the chance, or trust in coincidences.

"Ha," Dean said, and looked up at Sam with a ghost of a grin on his face.

Sam shook his head, but didn't argue. "Fine," he said, grabbing the papers that had fallen off the floor and then reaching for his laptop. "But going through those papers again and again isn't going to help. It's like Dad's journal – there's only so many times that you can read it before you know everything that it says."

"Then do your techno thing and find us some new research," Dean said, and Sam nodded, then began typing away.

Cas stood and moved behind Dean's chair, leaning forward to read over his shoulder. As he did, he placed one hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean reached up to squeeze his hand, tilting his head back just long enough to grin at him, the smile looking a little more genuine now. "Besides, who says I need to go out to a bar to relax and clear my mind?" he asked, glancing over at Sam. "What did you think that Cas and I are going to be doing as soon as you leave the room?"

Sam made a face. "Dude," he protested. "I know that you guys are doing that, but you don't have to bring it up in front of me." Dean laughed, and Sam shook his head. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Dean shot back, and Sam grinned for a moment before they all ducked their heads and returned to their research.

_Two days left._

* * *

><p>Cas woke to the sound of Dean gasping for breath, and immediately shot upward, reaching for the knife that he had taken to hiding under his pillow and unsheathing it with one smooth motion. Then he looked around the room frantically, searching for any sign of what was attacking Dean, or what could possibly cause him to make those pained noises-<p>

There was nothing wrong. Or, not that Cas could see, at least. Dean was still asleep, curled up on one side with his arms tight around himself. He was breathing hard, small whines escaping his mouth, which worried Cas enough that he almost didn't know how to respond. He had seen Dean get injured before, and seen the way that Dean did the best not to show when he was hurt. It was only when he'd been tortured by the witch that Dean had ever given any real sign of pain, and for a second, the noises that he made now were similar enough to the ones that he had made then that it caused Cas to freeze.

"No," Dean said, softly, speaking in his sleep. "No. Run. No."

"Dean," Cas said, and hesitantly reached out one hand, barely touching Dean's shoulder.

Dean jerked awake, lashing out as though he were trying to attack him. Cas flinched back and grabbed both of Dean's hands, but the attack carried more force than he had expected, and Cas barely managed to stop him before his first collided with Cas' chest.

"Dean," he repeated, louder this time. "It's okay, you don't have to fight me."

Dean froze. "Cas," he said, and his voice was unsteady. He shook his head, and chuckled weekly. "Sorry. Bad dream, I guess."

Cas frowned. "Do you often have nightmares?" He didn't think so – or, at least, he had never seen Dean react this way before, but he didn't know for sure.

"Nah," Dean said, in a voice that was failing to be casual. "This is pretty new. I think it's all the stress."

Now, Cas felt even more worried than he had been a second earlier. "Maybe we should take a break, after all," he suggested. "Allow you to rest for a bit."

"No," Dean insisted. Cas opened his mouth to protest, but Dean cut him off. "Thanks, Cas, but really, the only way I'm going to relax is if we've ganked Azazel and made sure that nothing bad is gonna happen. The sooner we get this, the better."

"Are you certain about that?" Cas asked slowly. Because he could understand Dean's worry, but even so, it did seem as though a day of relaxing would do him good.

Dean, though, just nodded. "I'm sure," he said, firm enough that Cas found himself unable to argue. Dean took a deep breath, then slipped out of bed. "Come on," he said, glancing back at Cas. "Let's get to work, okay?"

* * *

><p>That day, Sam and Dean each started up a phone call campaign, though they were very different in nature.<p>

Instead of trying to figure out the pattern, Sam pulled out the list of all of the special children who hadn't been kidnapped yet and called them up to warn them. The conversations didn't go terribly well.

"Is this Ava Wilson?" he asked, glancing down at the paper to double-check her name. A short pause, where she presumably said yes, then Sam said, "Don't hang up, okay, but have you developed some kind of psychic powers in the past year? If you did, then your life is in danger- No, don't hang up!"

The different calls had varying levels of success, with some people agreeing to listen, while others hanging up immediately. Sam was persistent, though, calling back as many times as necessary, or leaving endless messages on voicemails. The voicemails actually went easier than the calls, because they didn't have to worry about interruptions, though they couldn't be sure how many of the messages would actually reach their intended recipients. Sam didn't let that stop him, though, and would talk at length into people's answering machines. "I'm trying to reach Lily Baker. Don't delete this message! You're in danger. Over the past year, a group of us have developed psychic powers…"

There were forty-two people to be called – there should have been five more, but some of the psychics were dead, plus one man was serving in Afghanistan, where it seemed unlikely that they'd be able to reach him. Even so, there were too many people for Sam to call alone, so he recruited Dean and Cas to aid him. They were all given lists of numbers, and sat around different corners of the motel room, making their calls.

Dean, however, also called someone else.

Cas and Sam saw him sneaking out of the motel room multiple times, cell phone in hand, and knew what he must be doing. Dean wasn't as sneaky as he thought that he was. Neither Sam nor Cas said anything about it, though, and every time, Dean returned with a scowl on his face, making it clear that John hadn't answered the call.

By that evening, they had called nearly everyone on Sam's list, and convinced the majority of them that they were telling the truth, though there was no way of knowing how many of them would actually heed their instructions. Still, though, it was the best that they could.

This was also the time that Dean ceased to care about hiding who he was calling, because he walked up to Cas and said, "Let me borrow your cell phone."

"Why?" Cas asked as he handed it over, genuinely curious. He knew that Dean's phone was functioning perfectly, so Dean should not need to use someone else's.

"Dad won't recognize your number," he said, punching the phone number into the phone and holding it to his ear, then added, "That might be enough to make him pick up."

Cas frowned, but didn't say anything. A second later, Dean said, "Shit!" then handed the phone back.

"It's okay," Sam said. "We've still got all day tomorrow. We'll figure this out without Dad's help."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, with no enthusiasm. He went over and sunk down into a chair, sighing as he reached for the papers again.

"Maybe we should go to Bobby for help," Cas suggested. The thought had occurred to him before, but this was the first time that he'd said it out loud.

"I already took pictures of the info and sent them to him," Sam said. "He's working on it, same as us."

"You did?" Cas asked, followed closely by, "It's possible to do that?"

"Yeah," Sam said, and smiled and shook his head. "Trust me, Cas, someday I'll show you everything that computers can do. You're going to think that it's insane."

"I will look forward to it," Cas said with a smile and a nod.

"Can you two concentrate on the frickin' demons that are going to be attacking tomorrow?" Dean asked, and both Sam and Cas returned to work.

* * *

><p>It was the first thing that he heard the next morning. <em>The final day<em> the voices said, followed immediately by _Noon. Exactly noon._

Cas frowned up at the ceiling, then rolled over to check the time. It was a little before six in the morning. That meant that there was slightly more than six hours left before something – whatever it was – happened.

Dean was already up, sitting at the table and pouring over the papers for the millionth time. Or maybe he had never been to bed at all. He had laid down beside Cas the night before – after they had finished with other activities – but he had still been awake when Cas had fallen asleep. Perhaps he had gotten up right then, and worked through the night. It would not be surprising.

Cas didn't ask, just sat beside Dean and began working as well, even though by this time, he had no idea what they could possibly be looking for that they hadn't already seen.

Sam joined them half an hour later. He brewed coffee and heated up the leftovers from yesterday's dinner, and they all sat around, concentrating.

"There has to be a reason," Dean said around ten o'clock. "All of them have four people... They disappeared at all different times. First group was nine o'clock at night, second group was two in the afternoon... That part seems to be random, but what about the rest? Don't tell me that Azazel's just been grabbing whoever the hell he wants, for no reason."

"It is starting to appear that way," Cas said, though he didn't want to admit it, either.

"Well, that's just fucking fantastic," Dean growled. "We've got nothing. Fuck." He shook his head and pulled out his phone, hitting the second number on speed dial. He didn't even bother raising it to his ear, just sat it on the table, on speaker, so that they could all listen to it ring. John Winchester did not pick up.

"Fuck," Dean snapped again, then shoved to his feet and stormed out the motel, slamming the door hard behind him.

Cas frowned, staring at the door as if he would somehow be able to see through the wood and watch Dean if he only stared hard enough. "Should one of us go after him?"

Sam frowned, then said, "Maybe give him a few minutes to calm down first."

Cas nodded, and tried to wait patiently. He was not good at that, though, and barely a minute had passed before he pushed to his feet. "I will go check on him."

"Okay," Sam agreed, and pushed his hair out of his eyes, letting out a long breath. "I'll keep working on the pattern, for all the good that that will do."

Cas nodded, the slowly slipped out the door.

Dean was in the middle of the parking lot, standing over by the Impala, leaning forward with his hands pressed flat against the top of the car, looking like he was breathing hard. Cas walked toward him, but he didn't seem to notice until Cas placed his hand on his shoulder. Then he stiffened, but seemed to force himself to relax after a moment. "Hey, Cas," he said, his voice low, and huskier than normal.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked, despite knowing the answer.

"'Course I am," Dean mumbled. Of course he would lie.

Cas, though, immediately shook his head. "You are not fine," he said. "I want to know what is hurting you so badly."

"I said I'm fine," Dean snapped.

Cas frowned, and decided to take a guess. "It is alright for you to be angry with your father for what he has done," he said slowly. "I know that you care about him, and wish to speak to him again, but that doesn't mean that you can't be angry."

"I'm not-" Dean began.

Cas squeezed his shoulder. "Dean," he said, turning Dean to force him to look Cas in the eye, then said intently, "It's alright to be angry."

That did it.

"You know what?" Dean snapped, jerking himself out of Cas' grip. "You know what? Yes, I'm angry. I'm fucking furious."

Cas nodded. "That is good," he said. "Tell me why."

"Because what kind of man just kicks his sons out like that?" he snapped, his voice rising now. "What kind of man just lets us leave and won't answer twenty fucking phone calls in a single day."

Cas raised his eyebrows. Perhaps Dean was a little sneakier than he had thought, because he hadn't realized that the number was so high. Still, though, he said nothing, just listened patiently for Dean to continue his rant.

And Dean did.

"You know what?" Dean snapped. "I don't even give a fuck over the fact that he would've let me die when I was in the hospital, how fucked up is that? All I frickin' want to do is get him to answer the damn phone and talk to me, and he won't. And that's the worst fucking part. I've done everything to get him to answer, and he won't. He's my dad, and after everything I've done for him, I'm still going to die with him hating me, and yeah, that does piss me off."

Cas froze. "What did you say?"

Dean didn't appear to be listening. "Because I've been there," Dean said. "I've done every-frickin'-thing that he's ever asked of me, and I've never gone against him, and now he's just going to-"

Cas grabbed his shoulders again, with both hands this time, squeezing hard enough to cut Dean off midsentence. "Dean," he said, making his voice as firm as he possibly could, looking Dean straight in the eyes. "What did you mean when you said that you were going to die?"

Dean immediately stiffened, a look of horror crossing his face, and then he was trying to pull away. "Nothing," he said. "We're probably all going to get killed trying to fight this demon, and Dad doesn't seem to care."

No, that was a lie, Cas could see it all over Dean's face. He tightened his grip and refused to let Dean move away. "Dean," he repeated, louder this time. "What did you mean?"

Dean kept trying to pull away, looking around like he expected an answer to fall from the sky. Cas could see the exact moment that Dean gave up. His entire posture changed, his shoulders slumping, head bowing, his body language deflating. Cas loosened his grip on Dean, but Dean didn't try to move away. Instead, Cas slowly ran his hands down Dean's arms, stopping when he was holding Dean's hands in his own.

"Dean," he said, soft this time. "Tell me."

Dean took a deep breath, and lifted his head to look Cas in the eyes.

"I sold my soul to a demon," he said. "I've only got a couple hours left to live now."


	23. Part 1, Chapter 22

**CHAPTER 22**

"What?" Cas asked. He could barely hear his own voice.

Dean stepped back. This time, Cas was shocked enough that he let him.

Dean ran one hand through his hair, looking like he didn't know what to say. "Dad never told me about Azazel," he said finally. "I heard the name from somewhere else."

"Explain," Cas said, making his voice stronger this time, making sure that it didn't waver.

Dean took a deep breath, and nodded. "Ten years ago," he said. "Obviously. I was seventeen, Sam was thirteen. We skipped our chores to go to the park when there was nobody else around – I think we told you that story." And Cas nodded, but in the version that he had heard, it had ended with them getting in trouble with their dad. Nothing like this.

Then he remembered. This was the story about the one time that Sam had fallen.

Dean nodded back, and continued, his voice hard, "It was stupid. I mean, it wasn't like heading to the park was a terrible idea, even if we were supposed to be doing other stuff. But letting him climb so high-" Dean paused, then said, "Sam wanted to see how high he could get, and I mean, the kid was always fine. Climbed up everything, and never had a problem before – I think I told you that, too. So I figured, why the hell not? Let the kid go for it. What's the worse that could happen?"

Dean's jaw clenched. Cas didn't want to know the answer, but he didn't take his eyes from Dean's face, not for a moment.

"Thirty feet," Dean said simply, except that Cas could see the way that Dean's entire body stiffened when he spoke the words, as if they caused him physical pain to say. "That's how high he got. More or less. I was watching him the entire time, he was doing fine, but I told him to get his ass back to the ground and not go any higher. So he started coming down." Dean swallowed hard, his hands clenching. "He only made it a foot before he fell."

Dean broke off then, shaking his head, and had to take another minute before he could continue. "I'd been watching. He'd looked like he had a good grip, the branches were thick enough that he weren't about to snap from his weight or anything, he didn't looked worried or anything – but he still fell. And then I was there, holding him, trying to get him to the car, but- There was a lot of blood, and his head was-"

Again, Dean stopped. This time, Cas didn't think that he'd be able to keep talking. He squeezed Dean's hands, hard, for all the comfort that that would bring.

And sure enough, Dean took a deep breath and didn't finish his sentence, or say anything more about Sam's injuries. It was alright. Cas thought that he could picture it, more than he wanted to be able to.

"That was when the demon appeared."

"You summoned Azazel?" Cas asked.

Dean shook his head. "No. It just appeared, like it was suddenly standing there in front of me. And it wasn't Azazel. It had these- these red eyes. But it told me that it was making a deal on Azazel's behalf. Ten years for my brother." He stopped, and shrugged. "Didn't even have to think of it."

That seemed wrong. Demons didn't just appear, not without the proper rituals.

Then everything made sense, and all at once, Cas was shouting. "It was the demon, Dean!"

"I know-" Dean began, but Cas cut him off with a shake of his head.

"No," he said. "The demon was the one who killed your brother. You said that he had been fine before he had fallen, yes? That doesn't sound like an accident." He took a step forward. "The demon could have done it on purpose – could have pushed him out of the tree, knowing that you would sell your soul to bring him back. That's the only explanation for why the demon was there, waiting for you. It already knew what had happened because it had caused it."

"You think I don't know that?" Dean snapped. "You think I didn't figure that out? I've had ten years to think about it, Cas, of course I know! But what the fuck was I supposed to do? Whatever caused it, Sammy was still dead in my arms, I had to do something to bring him back."

Cas took a deep breath, trying to pull himself under control. "And Sam?" he asked. "Does Sam know?"

"Hell no," Dean said immediately, then paused and added, "Sam woke up about a minute later. I set him back under the tree, he never knew that it had happened. All of his injuries were fixed – even the blood was gone. I convinced him that he hadn't been nearly as high up, that it'd been closer to fifteen feet. His head was fuzzy enough that he accepted it, I guess."

"So you never told him?" Cas demanded, taking a step closer to Dean.

Dean shook his head empathetically. "'Course not," he said. "There's no way that I'm going to tell him that I sold my soul for him – you think the kid needs that guilt eating at him for the rest of his life?"

"And when the demons come to claim your soul?" Cas demanded. "He's not going to feel any pain about that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure that he will," Dean snapped. "I know what happens, Cas. The hellhounds are going to fucking tear my body to shreds, and I'm sure it's going to suck, but at least he won't have to think that it was his fault. It'll be some random demon attack, just another hazard of the job. And Sam can go hunt down Azazel and avenge me and all that shit, then he can go get that fucking law degree that he's always wanted and get his life back to normal."

"And you'll be in Hell for all of eternity," Cas said.

"But Sam's alive," Dean responded.

"That's not a fair trade, Dean," Cas snapped.

"Well, too bad," Dean said, "because I think that it's worth it." Then he paused, and added, "You know about demon deals?"

"Apparently," Cas said. He should wonder where that information had come from, but right then, that didn't seem even the slightest bit important. So instead, he said, "We will fix this. The bags will keep the demons from finding you, and we will find a way to reclaim your soul. We will begin by talking to Sam and Bobby, one of them is bound to know-"

"Woah, woah," Dean said, holding up his hands to stop Cas from continuing. "Wait. We're not telling them."

"We are not keeping this a secret any longer," Cas said firmly. "They can help."

Dean shook his head again. "You think I haven't researched this?" he asked. "The only way to get your soul back is to have the demon return it – not going to happen – or to kill the demon before it gets the chance to collect. And unless that you think that telling them that I sold my soul is going to magically help them to figure out a way to kill Azazel in the next two hours, then I don't want them to know."

Cas frowned, but Dean took a step closer, reaching forward to grab Cas' wrists. Cas could feel Dean's nails dig into his skin. "Please," Dean said, looking at Cas intently.

Cas took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Dean leaned closer, his mouth beside Cas' ear, and said, "Please, Cas. If I die in two hours, then I don't want Sam to know that I did it for him. God, it would tear him apart."

Slowly, Cas opened his eyes. Then he nodded.

"I will keep it a secret for two hours," he said softly. "If the bags work, and no demons come for you, then I will tell Sam so that he will be able to help us, and we will call Bobby to have him do research for us. And together, we will work to reclaim your soul from Azazel."

Dean considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Fine," Dean said. "But if I die today, and there's absolutely nothing that you can do to save me, then you never tell Sammy, okay? Don't let this hurt him like that."

Cas still did not like it, but he nodded and said, "I agree."

"Good," Dean said, then hesitated and added, "Listen, Cas... I'm sorry."

"For what?" Cas asked. From what he had gathered so far, Dean did not regret selling his soul for Sam's life, so he did not think that that could be what he was talking about.

"For getting you involved in this," Dean said. "And, you know, for dating you when I knew that I was going to die in a few weeks. I swear, I didn't want to do that to you. It just kind of happened, and then I spent a week trying to get out of it- Really fucked everything up with that." He stopped, and shook his head. "I never would've started this- this relationship or whatever if there wasn't a chance that I'd survive, but god, this was a fucked up idea, I never should have-"

Cas focused on Dean's face, and lifted one hand, placing it on Dean's cheek. "We already knew that we had secrets when we agreed to this," he said firmly. "I knew what I was getting into. Or, specifically, I knew that I didn't know what I was getting into, and I still agreed to it."

Dean nodded once, but didn't say anything.

Cas took a deep breath. He was fairly certain that he was close to panicking, but he made sure to keep himself composed. "We will find a way to save you," he promised, then leaned forward to place a small kiss against Dean's lips. When he pulled back, he added, "In all fairness, though, I do have to say that you were correct. Your secret is worse than any of mine."

Dean laughed at that, more of a chuckle than a real laugh, and definitely not a happy sound.

"So," Cas said slowly. "Two hours."

Dean nodded again. "Noon," he confirmed.

Noon.

"That's why I want to figure this pattern out before then," he continued. "I mean, if we can kill Azazel before the deal comes due, awesome. But if we can't- Well, maybe I can at least find a way to track down Azazel, to make sure that Sam and Dad can hunt him down and keep Sam safe."

Cas was barely listening to him now.

But then Dean grabbed Cas' arm and squeezed, and said, "One more thing." Cas focused, nodding for Dean to continue, and Dean said, "Just, you and Sam will take care of each other? You know, if it doesn't turn out well?"

"The demons will not harm you," Cas promised. Dean just stared at him hard until Cas added, "But yes, I will make sure that your brother is alright, to the best of my abilities. I would have done so regardless of whether you made me promise or not."

"Just making sure," Dean said, then turned to return to the motel. "Are you coming?"

Cas took a deep breath, and shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "I wish to remain out here and think for a little longer."

Dean hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Take your time." Then he returned to the room and pulled out his key to let himself in, leaving Cas alone in the parking lot.

Cas backed up several steps, until his back hit against the side of the Impala, the handle of the back door digging into his hip. Then he closed his eyes and sagged backwards, allowing the car to hold him up. If it wasn't for the cool metal under his back, offering him something to lean back on, he was fairly certain that he would have just fallen back onto the pavement, and that he wouldn't have cared either way.

But the Impala was solid, and strangely reassuring, and after a moment, he took a deep breath. Then he opened his eyes again, head tilted back to stare up at the sky.

"This is what you were speaking about this whole time, wasn't it?" he asked, then waited.

After so many weeks of listening to the angels and never seeing any other sign of their existence, he wasn't truly expecting an answer. Even so, he had to hope.

He remained quiet until the silence began to ring in his ears, then continued, "You have been counting down to this moment for weeks now. You must know what's going to happen. Dean Winchester sold his soul to a demon, and there is less than two hours left before he is supposed to die."

Another pause. There was still no response.

"I honestly am not certain whether you exist, or if I am losing my mind," he admitted. "But this cannot be a coincidence. My mind could not have created a countdown to an event that I knew nothing about."

He hoped.

"But if I am sane," he continued, "and you do exist, then I need you help. I need to know what I can do to save Dean."

The sky was an intense, rich shade of blue, with large clouds rolling across it, shifting their shapes in the light wind that also blew across the parking lot and pulling through Cas' hair. He wasn't entirely sure why he was standing here, staring upward. Back at the men's shelter, he'd realized that many people gestured upward when speaking of God or Heaven or other types of spiritual beliefs, and he had never quite understood why. Now, he found himself doing the same thing, for no reason.

Or, maybe there was somewhat of a reason. The videos that he had seen online all those weeks ago had featured bright lights that descended from above, so perhaps looking to the sky did make sense, after all.

And it didn't seem to matter which way he looked, one way or another. If the angels existed, they were not going to respond.

"Please," he said, and squeezed his eyes closed for just a moment. "Given the amount of time that you spend speaking of Dean Winchester, I know that he must matter, somehow." A pause, then he added, "And regardless of whether he matters to Heaven, I know that he matters to me, and to his brother. You have to help me to save him. Please, just tell me how."

He waited, and waited, and waited. But still, there was no sound but the whistling wind, and absolutely nothing to indicate that he wasn't completely alone.

* * *

><p>He didn't wish to give up, not so easily. So he remained outside, repeating his request as many times as he could, despite the fact that nothing ever changed.<p>

He estimated that thirty minutes had passed before Dean joined him again.

Cas turned his head to the side, watching as Dean approached, his shoulders hunched and his hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans. He said nothing, just joined Cas in leaning back against the Impala, staring straight ahead of him. Cas reached over, gently pulling Dean's hands from his pocket so that he could intertwine their fingers, and Dean slowly turned to look at him.

"Sam's starting to wonder about what you're doing out here for so long," Dean said, then added, "But he's started going crazy with the research, thinks that he might actually be onto something. So now he seems pretty distracted."

"I did not mean to worry him," Cas said. "We can return to the room now."

"No, no, it's cool," Dean said, then asked, "What were you doing out here, anyway?"

Cas hesitated. He knew that Dean didn't believe, and likely wouldn't be able to understand, but he decided to answer honestly, regardless. "I was praying to God," he said, then amended, "Or, to his angels, specifically."

Dean nodded slowly. And Cas knew that Dean thought that these kinds of beliefs were idiotic, but even so, Dean didn't say anything negative or judgmental. Instead, he just asked, "Why the angels?"

"I thought that there might be a better chance of them hearing me."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, and there it was – the scorn for religions, and for belief in general, that Cas had been expecting to hear. "How's that working for you?"

Cas looked away. "Not well."

There was a pause, and then Dean almost sounded disappointed as he said, "Figures. That's why I don't believe in any of this shit. I mean, come on, if angels were real, don't you think they would've helped us by now?"

"Angels exist, Dean," Cas said at once, and tried to think of a good reason why, one that would be convincing, but could not think of one. Instead, he just finished, quietly, "They have to."

Dean squeezed his hand, and moved a step to the side, so that their arms were pressed against each other. "Okay, fine, they exist," he said, not as if he actually believed it, but more as though he didn't want to bother with an argument. "That still doesn't mean that they're gonna care enough to help us out. Either way, we're on our own."

Cas opened his mouth to disagree, then closed it, glancing up at the sky for a moment before saying, "You're right."

That didn't mean that he would give up. He was going to find a way to save Dean, no matter what he had to do. He would find a way.

His plan just wouldn't involve angels, that was all.

"Damn right I'm right," Dean said, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a grin. Then he pushed away from the Impala, still holding tight to Cas' hand. "Now come on," he said. "If we've only got an hour and a half left of my last day alive, then I think that we should definitely try to at least sneak a quickie in."

Cas frowned. "If we have only an hour and a half, then we would be better suited spending our time demon-proofing the motel to ensure that this isn't actually your last day," he said. "And Sam is in our motel room."

Dean's grin widened, becoming far more wicked. "I already got started on the demon proofing while you were out here brooding."

"Praying," Cas corrected, as if it mattered.

Dean, of course, ignored him, just pulled his free hand out of his pocket and held up a room key. "And anyway, that's why I stole the key to Sam's room. We'll have all the privacy that we need there."

And despite everything, Cas couldn't help but smile, just slightly. "You had this planned, didn't you?"

"Of course," Dean said, and gave a tug on Cas' hand, pulling him away from the Impala. "Besides, this is my last day, remember? I should get to do what I want, and trust me when I say that I want you." He said the words in a low tone, the kind that he typically used when he was trying to be sexual, but then Dean's eyes flickered to Cas' face, and Cas was certain that he saw something there besides merely lust. A second later, Dean cleared his throat, and looked away.

"Alright," Cas said, giving Dean's hand a squeeze, returning the gesture that Dean had given him earlier. "Quickly, though, and then we need to finish preparing for the demon attack."

And just like that, Dean was smiling again. "Awesome," he said, then began pulling of Cas' arm again, tugging him toward the motel. "Now _come_," he ordered, then stopped walking and grinned at Cas, lifting and lowering his eyebrows rapidly as if to ensure that Cas understood the double entendre.

It was not the first time that Cas had heard that joke, so of course he recognized the meaning immediately, and wrinkled his nose. "You are exceptionally vulgar," he said, also not for the first time.

Dean just shrugged and continued to grin. "You love me for it," he said, then added, "Now hurry up." And this time, Cas did hurry forward, joining Dean in the rush to reach the motel room.

It wasn't until several minutes later, when they both undressed and stretched out in bed together, that Cas gave his response. "Yes, I do," he said, whispering the words against the bare skin along Dean's chest.

"What?" Dean asked.

Cas pushed himself up, one hand on either side of Dean's body, looking down at Dean. "This will not be your last day," he promised.

Dean's response was to lift himself off the pillows and kiss Cas, hard. And somehow, Cas could sense all of Dean's fear, the uncertainty, the belief that the bags wouldn't hide him, that salt lines wouldn't keep the Hellhounds at bay, that he really was going to die today, and they wouldn't be able to stop it.

It made Cas want to argue, to look Dean in the eyes and tell him exactly why he would live – namely, because Cas would not allow for any other events to unfold. Instead, he tilted his head and kissed Dean back twice as hard, and hoped that that would be answer enough.

* * *

><p>Dean's leather jacket was lying on the floor beside Cas' feet. Cas was currently in the process of buttoning up his shirt, but once he finished, he bent and picked the jacket up, slipping it over his arms without a second thought. It was only after he caught Dean staring at him that he remembered.<p>

"I'm sorry," he said, already moving to remove it. "I had forgotten, this jacket is special. You don't want anyone else to wear it."

Dean grabbed Cas' arms, stopping him.

"No," he said, then cleared his throat. "Keep it. It looks good on you."

Cas paused. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Dean's eyes flickered down towards Cas' chest, staring at the jacket for just a second. Then he smiled.

"Yeah," he said softly. "It's hot."

Cas returned the smile. "Thank you," he said softly, and pulled the jacket tighter around him. It was warmer than the trench coat, which wasn't necessary, considering that it was the middle of summer. But it also smelled like Dean, and made it feel as though Cas were still in his arms. He liked that. He wanted to picture Dean continuing to hold him, even as they prepared to face the demons that would come to take Dean's life.

Dean just bent and picked up Cas' trench coat, and Cas almost thought that Dean would put it on, but then he simply balled it up and said, "We can toss this into the trunk of the Impala before we go see how Sammy's doing. It's not like you're gonna need this if you're gonna be wearing mine instead."

Cas nodded. He had almost forgotten about returning to see what Sam had been researching, but now, he could feel reality setting back in. "Yes," he said. "We should go see if Sam has found anything."

Sam was bent over his laptop when they entered the room, but he must have been waiting for them, because the moment the door opened he was on his feet, hurrying towards them. His mouth was already open, ready to speak, but he paused as soon as he saw them, his eyes flickering over their messy hair, and the fact that Cas was wearing Dean's clothes. He made a face. "I'm not going to be able to sleep in my bed tonight, am I?"

"You might want to at least change the bedding," Dean said cheerfully. Sam narrowed his eyes into his "bitch face" expression, though it disappeared the moment that Dean asked, "So, you got something?"

"Yeah," Sam said, and hurried back to the table, Cas and Dean both following right behind him. Sam dug through the papers that had been scattered across the table until he found the list of all the victims, in order of when they had disappeared. They had all been studying for the past three days, to the point where Cas felt as though he could practically recite it word for word at this point. But now, there was something different about it. Beside each of the names, Sam had written a date.

Cas scanned through the dates. January 3, 1983. January 6, 1983. January 7, 1983. All the way through the end of the list, to the most recent victim. April 22, 1983.

"It's going in order," Sam said, gesturing empathetically at the list. "I don't know why we didn't realize it sooner!"

Cas suddenly understood, a moment before Dean said, "He's going oldest to youngest."

"Exactly," Sam said. "I don't know why it took me so long to make the connection. We just need to figure out whose birthdays are coming up next, and then we'll know who the demons are going to take next."

Cas blinked, and looked at Sam. "But that it wonderful," he said slowly, not understanding why Sam looked so unhappy about this turn of events. Sam had managed to crack the pattern. This is what they had been hoping for – not that it would help them today, not when they only had an hour left before Dean was attacked, and they had to focus on ensuring that the Hellhounds couldn't harm Dean. But in five days, another group would be stolen. They could find Azazel then, kill him before he could take his next victim.

Or-

Andy and Ansen had been taken as seven o'clock in the evening. The first group had been stolen at nine. There didn't seem to be any reason for why the times of the kidnappings continued to change, or at least, they had never been able to figure out why. But if Azazel didn't plan to come for this group until this evening, then there was a possibility that they could fine whoever was next on the list, and stop Azazel tonight.

Not that they knew how to kill him. They still needed to figure out a way to do that. But still, Cas couldn't help but hope-

"Do you know who he will be coming after next?" Cas asked urgently, glancing between Sam and Dean. Sam was frowning, and Dean was staring at his brother, a look of horror growing on his face. Cas frowned. "What?"

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, and pulled out another list of papers. "Here is everyone who hasn't been taken yet. I went through and figured out what all their birthdays were while you and Dean were, uh, entertaining yourself in my motel room."

Cas snatched the papers from Sam's hands and scanned through them quickly. All of the birthdays were there, and Sam had already gone through and circled five names – the five who were due to be taken today.

The first four names were all on the same piece of paper. It only took Cas a second to read them. Josie Timmons, born May 1. Kale Kimo, born April 29. Alexis Brewer, April 26. None of the names meant anything to Cas, though he vaguely recognized a couple of them from the calls that they had made yesterday.

It didn't matter, though. He was sure that Sam would be able to track them down easily, if they decided that they were going to hunt down Azazel today. That wouldn't be an issue at all.

Cas flipped through the papers, scanning through them until he found the final name, all the way down at the bottom of the final page. It was the last date, the final person that Azazel would be coming after today.

May 2, 1983.

Samuel Winchester.


	24. Part 1, Chapter 23

**CHAPTER 23**

Ten minutes to noon, and they were as prepared as they could ever be.

Cas sat at the end of one of the beds, clutching his iron knife tight in one hand, clenched too tightly to be of actual use. He knew that when a battle came, he would have to relax his grip, or else his body would be too stiff to accurately swing the weapon. For now, though, it comforted him to hold the knife as tightly as he could. It was one of the longest ones that the Winchesters owned, which would give him an extra reach that would be useful.

Sam and Dean had already explained everything that they knew about hunting demons. Harming the bodies would do nothing to stop them, but it would damage the victim that the demon possessed. If the vessel was harmed too greatly, then the demon would survive, but the human would die as soon as it was exorcised. Cas had listened gravely, then nodded to show that he understood, though he still didn't let go of the knife. It would be useful against the Hellhounds that came for Dean, at the very least.

In his other hand, he held a bottle of holy water, which could be sprayed across the faces of any demons who approached. He hoped that it would be enough.

Sam and Dean had pulled the chairs away from the table and set them in the center of the room. Now, they both sat, with Dean facing the doors and Sam facing the windows. The perimeter of their entire motel room – including the bathroom – was laid with salt lines. Demon traps were placed in front of all the doors and windows, and Sam had pulled a permanent marker out of one of the bags and carefully drawn an anti-possession sigil on the back of Cas' hand. "Just in case," he said, and again, Cas had nodded.

"When do you think that the demons will come?" Sam asked, voice tight. "It doesn't look like there's any set time. We might be sitting here for hours."

"I think it will be sooner than that," Cas said, glancing at the clock. Seven minutes.

"We don't know for sure, though," Sam said, as Dean shot Cas a look, clearly implying that he shouldn't say anything more.

"That is true," Cas admitted after a minute. "We don't know when they will come for _Sam_." The hellhounds would arrive for Dean in – he checked again – six minutes now, but that didn't necessarily mean that that would be when Sam was attacked. Azazel might wait until later to steal Sam. They had no idea what he was planning.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, though he frowned at Cas, clearly picking up on the emphasis that Cas had used. Dean was shaking his head furiously at Cas now, and Cas decided that perhaps he should do as Dean wanted this time, and said nothing more.

They waited in silence, tense. The minutes ticked away.

Cas was suddenly struck by the thought that this might be the last time that he ever saw either of the Winchesters, if Azazel succeeded in both killing Dean and taking Sam. He couldn't even imagine it, both of the people that he cared about most suddenly being gone, taken with one blow. He took a deep breath, and thought that he should say something, just in case. He didn't particularly like the idea of last words, though. And anyway, he couldn't think of anything good to say.

They waited.

One minute until noon. There was no longer time for last words, if Cas had wanted to say them. That was likely for the best.

The clock struck noon.

Dean and Cas instantly stood, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before the Hellhounds arrived, and wanting to be ready to face them when they did. Sam followed suit a moment behind them, lifting his gun and holding it as if he was ready to shoot at any moment. "What?" he demanded. "Did you hear anything?"

Dean shook his head, but otherwise, neither of them responded. Instead, they were back to waiting. This time, though, each second that passed was a relief instead of agony. The longer that they remained here without the Hellhounds arriving meant that there was a greater chance that the bags would keep them safe, and that the demons wouldn't be able to find them.

Then they heard the growls.

"Shit," Dean shouted, and lifted his gun, holding it steady and pointing it at the door.

"They can't get in," Cas said, or started to say. He only made it halfway through the sentence when he froze.

The salt lines were gone. He spun around, scanning the entire room, but they were gone, all of them. As were the devil's traps. Simply vanished, as if Dean hadn't spent twenty minutes crawling around on his hands and knees, carefully ensuring that every line was exactly right.

The growling grew louder.

"What the hell?" Sam asked, though none of them had an answer.

That was when the door exploded open, blown backward by an invisible force.

The hellhounds. Cas couldn't see them as they rushed into the room, but he knew that they had to be there.

A second later, the window cracked, pieces exploding inward and covering the room. All three of them instinctively ducked – they had to – but Dean and Sam didn't even wait until the broken glass had hit the floor before they were shooting their guns, sending bullets flying toward the invisible hounds in the hopes of killing them through pure luck.

Cas didn't allow himself to hesitate, either. He threw himself forward, running toward the mass of hounds with his blade raised high above his head, ready to stab downward as soon as he came close enough to sense the hounds' locations.

Then a hand closed around his shoulder.

Instinctively, Cas jerked free and whipped around, tossing the contents of the holy water bottle at whoever had grabbed him.

It was a man, middle-aged, dressed in an impeccable black suit. He didn't even flinch when the holy water struck him, just frowned. Then he blinked, and just like that, he was dry again.

Cas' mind whirled, but he forced himself to focus on the facts. This man wasn't a demon. Somehow, he had gotten into their motel. And he was trying to keep Cas from going to the Winchesters' aid.

An enemy, then. Kill him.

Cas rushed forward, and sunk the blade into the man's stomach, all the way up to the handle.

As he did, the man touched Cas' shoulder.

It happened in the middle of Cas' blink. One moment, they stood in the middle of the motel room. But during the millisecond that he had to close his eyes, the motel disappeared. Or maybe the motel had stayed where it was, and they had been the ones to vanish. Either way, they now stood in the center of an all-white room.

Cas jumped back from the man, gripping his knife tighter. The man rubbed the front of his shirt as if brushing away dust, a disapproving look on his face. And Cas knew that he had stabbed into the man's flesh, but he seemed unwounded, despite the hole in the shirt's fabric. The blade wasn't even bloody. A second later, even the cut in the fabric had disappeared.

"Now, really," the man said. "That was completely unnecessary. Not to mention completely useless."

"Who are you?" Cas demanded. He took care to ensure that his voice was completely steady, so that no sign of fear showed in any move that made. He would not allow them to realize that he was frightened.

"Oh, we'll get to that soon enough," the man said. "For now, I don't think that I'm the one that you want to worry about."

Cas shifted his grip on the knife – a pointless tactic, an intimidation technique that would fail to work against a man who couldn't be harmed with a knife. "Then who?" he demanded.

"Castiel," a feminine voice said from behind him. Cas spun around, facing the woman now. She stood behind a large desk, her hands flat against the top of the desk, leaning forward and glaring at him with obvious hatred in her eyes. "I have to admit, I never imagined that I would have you in this office again."

Again. So he had been here before, then, wherever this was. That would explain the feeling it gave him, as though his very flesh were crawling. He would expect to be frightened of any room that he had been transported into without warning by two not-demons who seemed to know who he was, but this feeling went beyond that. It was as though the sight of the walls triggered a response in his body even though he didn't know why, making his heart beat faster and his hands tremble slightly, no matter how he tried to force them still.

"You know me," he said slowly. And she had called him Castiel, which meant that she either had been spying on him over the past few days, or Castiel was his real name, and they had met before he had lost him memories.

The latter was looking to be more and more likely, particularly as she straightened and said, "Yes." Slowly, she began to circle the desk, slowly running her hand over the wood as she did so. "We have quite the history, Castiel. Most of the angels never see me nearly as often as you had to. You never were good at doing what you were told."

Cas blinked. "Angels," he said slowly. Understanding dawned, and he glanced from her, back to the man who stood behind him. "You two are angels."

She studied him, her eyes slightly narrowed, a wondering expression appearing on her face. "You really don't remember, do you?" she asked. "This isn't a ploy."

Cas narrowed his eyes right back at her, not sure what the correct thing to do in this situation was. He could tell the truth, and demand answers, in the hopes that he received them. But then, his every instinct screamed at him not to trust this woman or her companion, that he couldn't trust what they said, even if they were angels, and even if it had been their voices that he had been listening to for the past months.

"Well," the woman – the angel – said after a moment. "I suppose that this will make this a far easier."

"Make what easier," Cas demanded. He still had the blade poised to strike, turning himself and backing away, trying to watch both people – angels – at once. Neither of them responded. "Why exactly did you bring me here?" he practically shouted.

"Zachariah," she said, and inclined her head slightly.

The man once more touched Cas' shoulder, and Cas moved to jerk back-

Then he was flat on his back, lying on a long chair, his wrists cuffed to the arm rests and his ankles cuffed to the end of the chair. They were still in the same office, even though he knew that the chair hadn't been here a moment earlier. Instantly he began to struggle, but the cuffs held him firmly, to the point where he couldn't even squirm.

"There's one thing that I do have to admire about you, Castiel," the woman said slowly, and patted him on the shoulder. He flinched, but couldn't move his shoulder from beneath her fingertips, even though her touch made him feel as though something was crawling under his skin. "You never do what is expected. Every time we have tried to make you obey, and you always manage to elude us somehow. And just when we think that you can be of no more use and decide to dispose of you, you do the one thing that makes you absolutely invaluable."

"And what is that?" he asked, practically spitting the words.

She just smiled, and patted his shoulder again, drawing another flinch no matter how he tried to suppress it. "You befriended the Winchesters."

At the sound of their name, Cas suddenly stiffens, remembering the chaos of the motel room before he had taken. "Listen to me," he said, lifting his head as much as he could, trying to get as close to the woman as possibly, forcing her to look at him. "Dean and Sam Winchester are currently being attacked by demons. Dean is about to have his soul ripped from his body and dragged down to Hell. If they are important to them, then you have to go save them now."

"All in good time," she said, then finally removed her hand from Cas' shoulder, crossing the room toward Zachariah. "You know what we need, don't you?" she asked. He nodded once, and she added, "Would you go get it, then?"

Zachariah didn't answer, but a moment later, he vanished, and Naomi returned to stand above Cas again.

"What are you fetching?" Cas demanded. She didn't say a word.

A second later, Zachariah returned, holding a small bottle in one hand. Something silvery swirled inside it, looking to be liquid one moment and gas another, always changing. Whatever it was, it caught Cas' eye, and he couldn't make himself look away from it as the bottle was passed into the woman's hands.

"We found this about two weeks ago," she said, tapping the bottle, her fingernail clinking against the glass. "Before then, we really had believed that you were dead. And by that point, there was no way to be sure of where you had gone. You could have been anywhere, anyone."

The questions were overflowing in Cas' mind, until he wasn't sure what he should ask first – what the contents of the jar were, for one. Why they believed him to be dead, how they even knew of him in the first place, why the angels would even care about the obedience of someone like him. What he did ask, though, was, "How did you find me, then?"

She paused, then shook her head. "There really is no point to telling you any of this, is there?" she asked. "You'll remember most of it in a moment, and after that- Well, it won't matter to you any longer."

She took a step closer to him, slowly unscrewing the top to the bottle. Cas tensed, watching her close, and for the first time, the fear that he felt leaked into his voice as he asked, "What are you doing?"

In response, she removed the top from the bottle, and held it forward.

The substance surged forward, flying out of the mouth of the bottle and swirling through the air above their heads for a moment before suddenly racing downward, straight for Cas. In only a second it was surrounding him, rushing around and floating against his skin. And he still didn't know what it was, but he wasn't afraid. Not of the substance, at least.

Then he convulsed, body going stiff, surging upward as far as the bonds would allow. His head was thrown back, completely without his intentions, his mouth falling open as the substance flowed down his throat, filling him, choking him, and for a moment, he panicked, thinking that he couldn't breath, he was going to die. He could feel is spreading through his body, doing something to him, and he didn't understand any of the sensations that filled his body, but it didn't matter, because he couldn't breath. Whatever it was, it suffocated him, and he thrashed, panicked, trying to break free, trying to breath-

It was over.

He looked around, slowly. The office was the same as it had been before, but at the same time, completely different. There were shadows and lights that he hadn't been able to see before, and layers of power overlapping throughout the office. And when he looked at Naomi – he knew the woman's name now – he could see her human vessel, yes, and the small-but-still-glowing part that made up the soul of the woman that Naomi had possessed for at least the last century, if not longer. But over that image, he saw the true Naomi, her wings stretched high and tall behind her, three heads – all of various animals – with all of their heads staring down at him.

He still was not breathing. Now, it did not bother him.

"I take it that you remember now," Naomi said. Only her vessel's mouth moved. The mouths of her true forms all remained closed so tightly that they looked to be nothing more than thin lines carved into the animals' forms.

"Yes," he said slowly, and tilted his head down to look at his hands, at_ himself_, visible to him for the first time in weeks.

He was an angel. Not just able to hear them, but a part of them.

Or, he had been, before the rebellion.

He closed his eyes, a human gesture that nevertheless helped him to concentrate. It was only for a moment. That was all the time that he needed in order to watch as the memories flashed before his eyes.

"I remember it all," he said, eyes still closed.

He remembered rebelling. He hadn't had a vessel then – it had been decades since he had been to Earth, so he hadn't needed one. That may have been a mistake. He had underestimated his strength. One word from him, and Sam Winchester had fallen to their knees, hands over his ears and his body trembling. Machines had exploded in a rush of glass and smoke, the energy that his unvesseled form radiated too much for them to handle, setting off warning alarms all through the hospital. The people had been frightened; some of them could have been harmed, either in his explosions or in the panic that had followed.

But one task had been completed correctly, because as he had begun his ascent back to Heaven, he had seen the righteous man's eyes fly open.

Dean Winchester had been saved.

He opened his eyes, only to narrow them, glaring upwards at Naomi. "I remember it all," he repeated.

He remembered the way that he had been attacked at once by Hester, a member of his own garrison turned against him. She had summoned Zachariah, and he had brought Naomi's other henchmen to subdue Castiel and dragged into this office, dumped to his knees in front of Naomi's desk. And Castiel had known that he would be punished for his disobedience, and the thought of the kinds of punishments that Naomi gave was enough to make him tremble from fear, but he had looked her in the eyes and refused to back down or act as though he had done something wrong, no matter the pain that she offered him. He remembered the way that she had turned slowly to face the other angels. "He can't be redeemed," she said. "Kill him."

Castiel had run then, managed to draw his blade and fight his way through the crowd. But even as he had been flying through Heaven, there had been two thoughts reverberating through his mind. He had thought about how there was no escape, that he would never be able to make it to Earth, and even if he did, he would be tracked down and killed no matter what he did. But his other thought had been that, when the inevitable outcome came to pass, he would not have any regrets.

Cas remembered all of that. And he remembered why he had made the choice in the first place.

"The demons did not actually kill Sam Winchester to force his brother into selling his soul," Cas said, almost testing the strength of the newfound knowledge more than he was speaking to her, though the hatred in his voice would suggest otherwise. "The angels did."

She raised one eyebrow, not bothering to respond.

"You have been working with the demons," he spat, and jerked against his bonds, even though he already knew from experience that they would not give.

"Distasteful, but necessary," Naomi said. "Your problem, Castiel, is that you are far too righteous. You have never understood that sometimes, bad must be done in order for good to come of it."

"I would not consider the Apocalypse to be a good consequence," he said, practically spitting the words.

It was all clear now. The angels had needed Dean to be taken to Hell, so that he could be tortured and broken, forced into breaking the first seal. Then he would be saved, but not until after he had broken the first seal to begin Lucifer's rise. That was why no angel had raised their hands to aid the Winchesters, even when Dean had been dying. Because the deal wasn't due yet, but that didn't matter. If he died on his own while his soul was in Azazel's grasp, then it would just mean that he was taken to Hell all the sooner.

"Yes," Naomi said, her hand on his shoulder again, nails digging into his flesh. The pain did not bother him, but he still winced. "You would consider this to be good – the greatest good – if your mind worked the way that it should."

Cas had heard those words before. Or, not those words exactly, but similar words, close enough that he immediately knew what was going to happen.

He pulled in a deep breath through his teeth, instinctively trying to calm himself and his vessel in the way that had worked as a human. Then he looked down at himself, at the straps and cuffs that held him down and stilled his movement, carved with Enochian seals so that he could not even flee his vessel to make his escape. Honestly, he had known what would happen to him the moment that his grace and memory had been returned to him. There was only one thing that this chair was used for, and Cas had far too much experience with it. How much experience, exactly, was impossible to say, but it was still far more than he would ever wish on anyone. And more than that, there was no reason for them to return his powers to him, unless it was for a singular purpose.

"You plan to rewrite my mind," Cas said, not making it a question. They needed him as an angel, or else the rewriting process would destroy him. Human minds were not made to be dug into in the way that she intended. They weren't strong enough to handle it.

She didn't answer, but gave his shoulder one more pat before turning away, walking to the table that had appeared a few feet away. The machine – Cas knew no other name for it, or even whether it had a name – sat on the top, its metal sides gleaming slightly in the white light from above. Naomi picked it up slowly, then returned to Cas' side.

"Let me guess," he said, mainly speaking now to try to delay the inevitable, while his mind spun wildly, looking for a way out. "You plan on bringing me under your control now, then sending me back to the Winchesters' sides. Using me to manipulate them into agreeing to your plan for the Apocalypse?"

It worked, to some extent. Naomi did pause, and said, "Well, you won't be returning to them yet," she said. "You can be reunited with them once our plan has been completed, after Dean has been saved from Hell." She smiled. "From what I've heard, Azazel has a servant waiting to be sent to Sam Winchester, to bring him under control. It only makes sense that we should have one as well, and since they already trust you so well..."

Her voice trailed off. She did not need to say anything more, and so she didn't. Instead, she took one more step closer, closing the last bit of distance between the two of them. One hand gripped his hair tight, forcing his head back and holding him still. The other hand poised the machine above his head, the pointed spike held carefully above his eye.

He stared up at him, his vessel trembling now as the memories overpowered his mind. All of them were vague, things that he had not been supposed to remember. But somehow, he did, and he knew how painful the rewriting process was. But more than that, he knew that by the end of it, he would no longer be himself. All of his beliefs would vanish, his personality and sense of self dissipated into the far corners of his thoughts where he could not reassemble them into a coherent whole.

He thought about saying something threatening, telling her that even rewriting his mind would not work, reminding her that he always managed to break free of her control no matter what she did. At the very least, it might compel her to kill him, which would be a better fate than being forced into becoming a pawn for her to use against the Winchesters. But he remained silent. Even the least-effective rewritings had always held him for at least a few decades, if not centuries. No matter how quickly he broke himself free, he would still be under her control long enough for her to use him for what she wished.

He had to find a way to break free.

The machine clicked on, and the point began spinning, faster and faster, until even his angelic eyes could hardly make out the rotation. She lowered it slowly, precisely, bringing it closer and closer to the exact center of his eye.

He tried to move his head, to at least throw off her aim in the hopes of making it difficult for her to accurately bring him under control, but she held him tight. He could not move.

His angel blade was in his pocket now. It had returned to him along with his grace, and he could feel the weight of it pressing against his leg. But his hands were bound to the arms of the machine. He could not move his arms at all, let alone reach for his blade. Fighting was not an option.

He had to find something else.

In all the times that he had been here, in this position, he had never managed to break himself free. There was no reason to think that this would be any different.

But then, he had never been in this exact position before. Because now, he had a reason to escape, more than he ever had before. If he did not succeed in getting away, then he would be turned against Dean and Sam, the two people that he cared about the most. Just thinking about Dean in Hell made his stomach churn, as though he was still a slave to his vessel's bodily functions and were about to be sick. And Sam... Cas could not allow the younger Winchester to be harmed, either, or to be used in this plan to free Lucifer.

The last time that he was in this chair, he had considered taking drastic measures to avoid being rewritten. The procedure itself was a blur in his mind, but the part that came before was suddenly, starkly clear. He had thought of a way out, but never taken it, for fear that using this method to get away would be worse for him than allowing her to control him again. So he had debated, and never done it, and then her blade had reached his brain and it had been too late to make any decisions at all.

Now, though, he didn't have a choice.

He sucked in another deep breath, then dug his thumbnail into the pad of his forefinger, pushing harder until his nail broke the surface and drew blood.

Naomi lowered the point of the machine into the corner of his eye. He could feel drops of blood begin to roll down his cheek.

His body jerked, his hands twitching, though she still held his head utterly still. This should not harm an angel. Angels could deal with any amount of damage without experiencing pain, so long as their central programming was not harmed and an angel blade was not used. Cutting into his eye should not cause him any pain.

And yet, this was agonizing.

He forced himself to focus, to ignore as the machine dug deeper and deeper into his skull. Instead, he tried to force his mind to think only about the sigils he was drawing as he rubbed his bloody finger along the top of the armrest.

Any second, he expected Naomi or Zachariah to notice his movements, and to stop him. They did not. It was likely that they thought that not even he was capable of this insanity.

They underestimated him.

The blade must be nearly to his brain by now. The pain was drowning out all other thoughts, but even so, Cas was certain that he had made the sigils correctly, despite not being able to see them.

There was a reason that angels never made the angel-banishing sigils, not even as a last resort, and definitely not with their own blood. Cas didn't think that anyone had been crazy enough to do so before, which would explain why Naomi and Zachariah didn't expect it. Cas wasn't even sure what the effects would be, whether it would hurt him worse than anything Naomi had done, or whether it would kill him outright.

One thing was certain, though. At the very least, it would keep Naomi from turning him against Dean and Sam. And that would be worth it.

He didn't even hesitate before slamming his still-bloody finger into the center of the sigils.


	25. Part 2 Chapter 1

**PART 2**

**CHAPTER 1**

The clock was ticking down the minutes until noon, and Dean was doing his damndest not to show how scared he was, for both Sam and Cas' sakes. Neither of them deserved to see him freaked, especially over something that he had brought onto himself like this stupid demon deal. Especially Sam. Cas already knew what was going to happen when the clock hit noon, but Sam didn't need to find out and deal with the guilt of that. Which meant that Dean had to act like he wasn't going to die in the next three minutes.

That was harder than he'd thought it would be. Especially since the hallucinations had started.

He'd had ten years to find out about exactly what happened when hellhounds were on your tail. He'd been expecting this to happen.

Still, though, it hadn't made it any easier when he'd been lying in bed earlier this morning, and he'd opened his eyes to see Cas' face twist into something definitely not human. He'd freaked and jumped out of the bed, then calmed down enough to realize it wasn't real, this was still Cas, it had all been a hallucination. Lucky that Cas had slept through all that, so Dean didn't have to worry him more than he already did. But still, even after he'd figured out that his mind was just screwing him over, he still hadn't been able to make himself head back to bed.

It was even weirder when Sam had first walked into the motel room that morning, laptop in hand and his face looking like it had been fucking burned to a crisp, and Dean had had to blink twice before he got that hallucination to disappear, and the whole time he was trying to act like he wasn't worried, no sir, absolutely no reason to panic over here.

One minute left. Dean glanced over at Cas, who was staring at the door, a look of intense concentration on his face and the holy water and knife tight in his hands. He didn't even glance over at Dean, like he was so intent on preparing for the demon attack that he wouldn't even think of anything else. That was fine. Trying to say a silent goodbye – or, you know, gazing into each other's eyes and wordlessly saying that they loved each other? Way too girly for his taste, anyway.

Then the clock struck noon.

Dean and Cas both jumped up, tense and ready to go, even though there wasn't any sign of demons anywhere around. Sam was staring at them like they were crazy, which meant that Dean was definitely going to have to talk to him after this was all done, explain why he and Cas had both expected the demons to come for them right at this time.

You know what, though? Dean was pretty sure he'd be completely cool with that, so long as some demon didn't come along and rip his heart out before he got the chance.

Seconds ticked by – Dean swore he could feel every one of them, like the passage of time was almost a physical sensation, some weight gradually being lifted from his shoulders.

Then the salt and devil's traps vanished.

At first, he didn't realize what was going on. It was like there was this split second where he just blinked down at the bare floors and thought_, Huh, that's a weird hallucination to hit me now._

Then his mind caught up to what was actually happening, and he barely had time to think _Fuck!_ before the windows were exploding open and Hellhounds came rushing at them.

Dean stumbled back, side-by-side with Sammy, instinctively lifting his gun and shooting the hounds. He'd heard that they were invisible, but these ones weren't – not to him, at least. Must be a side effect of selling his soul, but it was useful, at least. The hounds were nasty – all bleeding wounds and rotting flesh, gaunt enough that it looked like their skeletons were going to burst through their skin at any second – but if he could see them, then he could shoot them, and that was all he needed. Wasn't like he was going to be taking one of these creepy things to the prom – who cared if they looked pretty?

Okay, Dean was fucking positive that these things were going to haunt his nightmares even more than they already had been, but that was a problem for another time.

He got the first couple hounds that came for him – perfect headshots, and they dropped like rocks. Even Sam was doing good – his gun was loaded with rock salt, which would have been awesome against a super powerful demon like Azazel who couldn't be harmed with regular bullets, but up against the Hellhounds, it was less than useful. But Sam was a good shot, considering he couldn't even see what he was shooting at, and the last hound threw back its head and howled in pain as the salt struck it against the side. And Dean shuddered as the noise seemed to run straight through his body in the most horrifying way possible, but he didn't hesitate, and then the last hound was tasting iron, too.

Dean spun around, checking to make sure Sam and Cas were okay. Sam was – he was out of breath and wide eyed, which was pretty normal, actually, but at least he wasn't hurt, so they could worry about being terrified later. Dean nodded, and turned to look at Cas-

Cas was gone.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, just as another wave of hellhounds broke down the frickin' front door. Okay, so apparently the demons had expected that the first three hounds wouldn't be enough to take him, and had backup on hand. He didn't know if he should be scared of proud.

Except "terrified" immediately won out, and he jumped back, raising his gun to shoot into the mob of hounds again, but there were more of them this time, and he wasn't sure how he was going to take them all out this time. And all the while. he was still scanning the motel room, trying to find Cas, to see any sign of blood or a fight or anything that could tell him what the hell had happened.

Sam grabbed Dean by the arm and yanked him backward, practically throwing Dean into the bathroom ahead of him then throwing himself against the door to try to keep it closed, even as the hellhounds all piled against the opposite side, shoving back just as hard. "Dean," Sam grunted, and Dean snapped himself out of whatever it had been that had held him frozen, and ran to join Sammy, bracing his shoulder against the door until they finally managed to shove it all the way closed and turn the lock.

"Did you see where the hell Cas went?" Dean demanded, reaching into his jacket pocket and yanking out a container of salt to lay down another line in front of the door. Hopefully this one would last, and not disappear like whatever the hell had happened to all their sigils. Not that Dean actually had any hope left.

Sam shook his head. "He was just gone," he said. "One second there, the next- Shit, Dean, I don't have a clue." He took a deep breath and shook his head again. "We need to find a way out of here."

"No shit," Dean snapped. The hounds were pounding hard against the door, and already the wood was beginning to splinter. Dean gave it a minute before they got the door broken down completely, and when the door went, odds were that the salt line would scatter across the tile. Probably wouldn't even slow them down for more than a second.

Sam ran to the window and yanked it open, then motioned Dean over. "You first," he said. "If we can make it to the Impala-"

"And what?" Dean snapped. "Get followed by demons for the next thousand miles? See how long we can run away before they catch us again?" He could still feel the little hex bag that Bobby had given him in his jean pocket, for all the good that it had done. Fucking thing had given him hope that he might actually be able to survive, and then it had turned out to be completely worthless, and Dean honestly wanted nothing more than to just throw the stupid thing to the ground and stomp on it right then and there, but that would be a stupid waste of time that they didn't have. No point in throwing a fit about it now.

Now, he had to figure out what the hell had happened to Cas.

But more immediately, he needed a way to get Sam to safety.

"Yes, I know that they're still going to be after us," Sam snapped, "but do you have a better idea?"

He did, actually.

"Here," Dean said, pulling out the keys to his baby and shoving them roughly into Sam's hands. "Take them and run. See if you can get to Bobby's before Azazel finds you, then figure out what the hell happened to Cas and find a way to help him, wherever he is, you got that?"

"Dean what the hell?" Sam demanded, trying to shove the keys back at him, but Dean shook his head and wouldn't take them. Sam's eyes narrowed. "You're not doing something stupid like planning on staying behind, right? Dean?" No response, and his eyes narrowed further. "No way, Dean, just no way. You don't get to do the martyr thing, especially when I'm the one they're after."

Dean took a deep breath.

"No, you're not," he said.

He hadn't wanted to say that. Fuck, he hadn't wanted to say that, he'd never meant for Sam to know, the secret was supposed to die with him – except for Cas, but Cas was never supposed to tell it, Sam wasn't supposed to get hurt over this. But there wasn't any other choice. It was the only way to get Sam to run off and leave him behind.

Sam froze, and even though he didn't understand yet, Dean could still see the panic and fear in his eyes, enough to make Dean wince. "What?"

The hounds nearly had the door broken down now. Maybe Dean had been too optimistic when he'd thought that they had an entire minute. "It doesn't matter, just go," he snapped, and gave Sam a rough shove toward the window.

And for a split second, he thought that Sam would actually be smart and listen. Then Sam shook his head. "Not without you," he said. "You go first, and I'll follow after."

The hounds were pounding harder against the door, scratching against the wood, loud enough to make Dean shudder.

"I'm not kidding," he snapped.

"And neither am I," Sam said.

The door was nearly in pieces. One or two more good pounds, and it'd give away completely.

Fuck.

"Okay, fine," he snapped, and threw himself out the window. The motel was only one story, meaning that it was easy to hit the ground running. Not that he did. Instead, he hit the ground and spun around, waiting the extra two seconds it took Sam to jump out after him.

The hounds burst through the door just as Sam hit the ground, and together, Dean and Sam both turned and bolted hard for the Impala.

Three hundred feet. That's how far they had to run, at Dean's best guess, but it still felt like way too fucking far. Dean could hear the hounds, their paws slapping the concrete, giving low barks and growls that came closer and closer, and Dean didn't dare to look back and see how close they actually were, but he still knew that there was no chance that he was going to get away.

He knew it, but he still couldn't help but hope. He was so close – only fifteen feet, he just had to close that last bit of distance and then he'd be safe inside his baby, and maybe they actually could get away.

Then the hellhound caught him.

Its jaw closed around his leg, and Dean couldn't' help it – he screamed and he hit the ground, fumbling with his gun for a second before he managed to lift it and shoot at the hound who was digging its teeth deeper into his flesh, shooting once, twice, three times before he finally got a good shot and managed to kill the thing. It was gone, it couldn't hurt him more, and he managed to rip his leg out of its jaw, but there were more where that came from, and no way was he going to be running any time soon.

He was dead meat, and he knew it.

Then Sam grabbed him.

"Sammy," Dean screamed, trying to rip himself free and shoot at the hounds at the same time, without succeeding at either one. "Just get out of here, alright?"

Sam didn't listen, and didn't even take the time to pick Dean up, just grabbed him under the arms and dragged him back to the Impala, and Dean's leg was on fucking fire, but he gritted his teeth and didn't say a word, and tried to focus through the pain and shoot at the hounds that still ran after them.

He got the closest one though the chest. Lucky shot. The others, not so much.

They were at the Impala, and Sam didn't slow down, just yanked open the back door and practically tossed Dean inside, and that time, it was really fucking hard to keep himself from screaming. But Sam slammed the door after him, and Dean shoved himself up on one elbow. The pain was barely bothering him now, because there was something much more important, he had to make sure that Sam wasn't in danger, he had to-

Then the driver's door opened and Sam threw himself inside, yanking the door closed behind him, and suddenly, Dean could breath again.

Sam didn't waste time, just shoved the key into the ignition and took off. Dean could feel the back end of the Impala slam against the hounds, the back wheels bumping over the bodies of the dead hounds, or else murdering the ones that were still sort of alive, Dean didn't know which. And he winced at the thought of what this was going to do with his baby, but honestly, he wasn't going to complain.

"You okay?" Sam demanded, voice tight, his eyes not leaving the front windshield as he practically flew out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to sit up and nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, and they both knew that that was a lie – but then, that was the whole point. He might be fucked up and hurt, but at least he was okay enough to keep lying about how he was. Sam just nodded, still not looking away from the road. Probably a good thing, since he was inching his way up to a hundred already. Good thing this was a small-as-fuck town with nobody else on the road.

Then Dean saw it.

One hound, standing in the road in front of them, not moving.

Shit. Dean didn't doubt that running down the hound would be enough to turn it into a pancake, but then, he didn't want to see what would be left of him and Sam if the Impala struck something that big while going a hundred miles an hour.

"Swerve," he shouted.

"What?" Sam demanded. He didn't swerve. They were only seconds away from hitting the thing.

Dean threw himself forward and grabbed the wheel, then yanked it to the side, making the whole car swerve into the other lane.

"Dean, what the fuck?" Sam demanded, shoving Dean's hands away and taking control again, moving the car back into the correct lane. But it had been enough. By the time that Sam had moved back over, the hound was at least ten feet behind them, and didn't look like it would be catching up with them any time soon. Dean felt his whole body sag with relief, and leaned forward, his forehead pressed against the back of the passenger side seat.

"Seriously, Dean, what were you doing?" Sam demanded.

"Saving your ass," Dean snapped, because he was way too tired and freaked and in way too much pain to deal with this right then. "And you can slow down before you wrap us around a tree, I think we got away."

Sam scowled, but he did slow the car down to about sixty, which was still way faster than a hellhound could run, so they should be safe. Only then did he turn his head, just long enough to glance over at Dean for a second before returning his eyes to the road. "Dean," he said, in a much lower voice. "Really, man, what did you just do?"

Dean groaned and let out a long breath. "It doesn't matter," he said. "We've got much more important things to worry about, like figuring out where Cas could've gone and what we're going to do next."

Dean hadn't seen any blood in the motel room. He hadn't exactly had a lot of time to look, but still, he knew for a fact that he hadn't heard a scream, meaning that the hounds couldn't have gotten to him. If they had, Dean would've heard it – and just thinking about that made him shudder, and he pushed the thoughts away right then and there to focus on the other most important fact that he could think of: the fact that there was no way in hell that Cas would've run off and abandoned them when there was hellhounds breaking down the doors. Hell, Dean couldn't even think of a way that Cas could've gotten away, even if he wanted to. But more than that, Dean was absolutely sure that Cas wouldn't have bailed and left them behind.

Which meant that wherever Cas was now, he had been taken there against his will.

Taken by the demons.

Dean's hands clenched into fists, and he gritted his teeth and tried not to imagine what kinds of things demons did when they had you in their grasp. But no, that wasn't going to help anything. He had to stop thinking about what the demons could be doing to Cas, and start figuring out how to get him back.

Sam, though, was obviously still hung up on what Dean had done. "You can see them, can't you," Sam suddenly said, his eyes widening, then narrowing into a glare as he turned toward Dean again. "You saw them. And you said that the hellhounds were here for you, not me."

Fuck. "Can we not talk about this now?"

Evidentially not, because Sam just said, "Dean," in a low voice. And shit, Dean knew that Sam could do the whole puppy dog eyes thing, make anyone give in and do what he wanted, that was why Dean had made a point of not looking over at his brother, but it definitely wasn't fair that he could do it with just his voice, too.

"Dean," Sam repeated, and now Dean could hear the fear creeping into his voice, too. "Please tell me that you didn't do what I think you did."

Dean took a deep breath. "If you're thinking that I sold my soul to a demon, then congrats, you're right. You want a fucking prize?"

"You sold your soul to a demon?" Sam demanded, his voice rising on the last word.

"I didn't have a choice," Dean said shortly, then shook his head. "It's not important. I'm more concerned with what the fuck we're going to do now, and figuring out what happened to Cas."

"Doesn't matter?' Sam repeated. "Dean, you sold your soul, how could that not matter? What did you even do?"

"Later," Dean snapped. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean shook his head. "No, I mean it, Sammy. I'll tell you what happened if that'll make you happy, but right now, we need a plan, and we need to find Cas."

Dean kept playing the split second where Cas had vanished over and over again in his head, and still didn't have a clue where he could've gone, or what could've happened to him. And it was driving him crazy, eating him up inside, trying to figure out what the explanation could possibly be and having no clue.

He reached into his jacket pocket and yanked out his phone, then hit the speed dial button for Cas' phone. He held it up to his ear and waited for it to ring – practically praying for Cas to pick up and tell them what the fuck was going on – but nothing happened. Instead, all he got was a robotic voice telling him that the number wasn't available.

"Shit," he snapped, and tossed his phone down onto the seat, then leaned forward, his forehead pressed against the back of the driver's seat.

Sam took a deep breath, then said, "And we need to fix your leg up before we do anything else."

"I'm fine," Dean repeated, even though they both knew that that was bullshit. He took a deep breath, then looked down at his leg. It was hard to tell how deep the bites ran, so pulled a knife out of his jacket pocket. "Hold the car steady, would ya?" he said, because the last thing he needed was for Sam to swerve the knife to stab into his leg or something, then he carefully began cutting away what was left of his pant leg, wincing as he peeled the fabric away from the wounds.

"How is it?" Sam asked, glancing over his shoulder, and he still had the worried tone in his voice, the one that made Dean feel like absolute shit for scaring him like this, even if it hadn't exactly been his fault that a hellhound had tried to rip his leg off.

Dean grimaced, but said, "I've had worse." He meant it, too. There were four puncture wounds to the bottom of his leg, but only a couple of them looked deep enough that he had to worry about them. He pulled off his tee shirt, carefully wrapping it around his leg, then lifting his leg up and stretching it out across the backseat, to keep it elevated like you were supposed to with stuff like this. "Let's just hope that Hellhounds don't have rabies, or I'm screwed."

"Not funny," Sam said shortly.

"Didn't mean it as a joke," Dean said, then leaned back against the car door, his head tilted back so it was pressed against the mirror. "But okay, it looks like I'm going to live," he said. For now, at least, though he didn't say that last part out loud – no way would Sam appreciate that. Instead, he just said, "Now what?"

"Bobby's house," Sam said immediately, like he'd thought this through already. "There's probably no place in the world that's secured better against demons. If you're going to have demons on your ass from now on, then we need someplace where they won't be able to reach you."

Sam had a point – and actually, that's exactly where Dean had told Sam to go, back when he was planning on sacrificing himself to let his brother get away. Now, though, Dean frowned. "It'll take all day to get there," he argued, and shook his head. "No way. We still need to stick around here, close enough that we can investigate."

For a moment, Sam didn't say anything. Well, that was a terrible sign. When Sam went quiet like that, you knew he was preparing to say something bad.

"What?" Dean demanded, figuring that Sam should just hurry up and get it over with, instead of leaving him in suspense like this.

"Dean, we both saw Cas vanish," Sam said slowly. "Wherever he is, I don't think that he's going to be anywhere near the motel." Which Dean already knew, he wasn't an idiot, but Sam was still talking. "Most times, I'd say yeah, we go back and look for clues. But this time, with you wounded and the hellhounds probably still running around… I don't think we can risk going back. We need to hurry up and get to somewhere safe."

Dean stiffened. "So, what, we're just supposed to abandon Cas?"

"Of course not-" Sam began.

"We're not even going to try to look for him?" Dean snapped. "There could be some clue back in that motel, and if we go back-"

"If we go back, then you'll just be giving the hounds another chance to rip you to shreds and drag your soul to hell," Sam snapped, his voice even harsher than Dean's had been. That was enough to make Dean freeze, because Sam never sounded like that. Not toward him, at least. That voice was usually reserved for Dad, and only used when Sam was really, truly pissed.

"I want to save Cas, too, okay?" Sam continued. "But I'm not going to go back and let you get killed by some demon deal that you never even told me that you made. So we are going to drive to Bobby's, and then we're going to find out what happened to Cas and figure out where to go from there. But there is no way that I'm letting you go anywhere near that motel."

For a minute, Dean didn't say anything. Then he nodded. "Okay," he said. "Bobby's it is."

"Good," Sam said shortly. His hands were clenched tight around the wheel, and he was staring straight in front of him, still looking like he was just barely keeping himself calm.

"Honestly, considering that all of our stuff is back there, I figured that you'd be the first to want to turn around and go back," Dean said. "At least to get Dad's research and your laptop. I kinda thought that you had some sort of spiritual connection with that thing." Weak joke. Hell, it was barely a joke at all. His leg was still bleeding and he was way to tired to think of anything better, so sue him.

"Bobby had copies of all of our research," Sam said shortly, and didn't say anything more.

Okay, not in the mood for jokes, then. Dean hadn't expected him to be. Honestly, there was probably only one thing that Dean could say that would calm Sam down at all. Or, well, "calm him down" was definitely the wrong words to describe it, but it was something that Sam would want to hear, at least. And it was the absolute last thing that he actually wanted to say.

Still, though, he took a deep breath and forced the words out. "You had died."

"What?" Sam demanded.

"Ten years ago," Dean said tightly. "You died. Demon attack, I think. They tried to make it look like an accident, but it… I'm pretty sure it was demons. That's why I sold my soul."

"I died?" Sam demanded, his voice rising. "What the hell, Dean? When? How? Why didn't I know about this?"

Dean and Sam had always preferred the rip-the-bandage-off approach. The anticipation was the worst part. Don't warn someone before you pop their arm back into its socket or pour whisky to disinfect their wounds. Saying it faster made it hurt less – in theory, at least, but Dean thought that it was at least worth a shot. "That time you fell out of the tree. You didn't actually walk away without a scratch, it's just that the demon fixed you up again, and you never knew the difference."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The idea that it would hurt less if you did it fast enough? Dean could confirm that it was complete, utter bullshit.

"Dean," Sam said, and for a moment, he didn't add anything more. He did sound slightly less pissed, though, so that was a plus. Except instead of being pissy, he sounded more like he was in pain, which was about a million times worse. "You can't do stuff like that."

"I didn't have a choice," Dean said shortly. "It was either that or let you stay dead, and believe me when I say that there wasn't any choice, Sammy." And fuck if his voice didn't break while he was saying it.

"Dean," Sam repeated.

"No," Dean said, cutting him off. "I know you wanted to know what was happening, so I'm telling you, but that's it. You can take your lecture and shove it up your ass, okay? We're not talking about this now, and you're not changing my mind on this one." He paused and took a deep breath, then added in a lower voice, "Seriously, just do me a favor and drop it, okay?"

For a minute, Sam didn't respond. Then he slowly nodded.

"I'll call Bobby to let him know that we're on our way," he said, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. "And I'll have him get started researching possible ways to track Cas down."

"Good idea," Dean said, then tilted his head back, his head resting against the smooth glass of the window, and closed his eyes. He did his absolute best not to listen to Sam's hushed conversation with Bobby, or to imagine the hellhounds ripping into him again, or picture the way that Sam had looked when he'd struck the ground a decade ago and the blood had-

And most of all, he was doing his damndest to keep himself from picturing what the demons could be doing to Cas right that moment.

He didn't do a real good job of it, though. His mind could barely think about anything else.

But it would be okay. They were going to find Cas.

They had to.

* * *

><p>The hellhounds were coming for him again.<p>

Dean was running as fast as he could, but that only made it worse, making him trip over his own feet in his hurry to get away from those things. He couldn't even remember how long he'd been running for – it was like his whole life before this had just been wiped away, until he couldn't actually remember a time before these things had been coming for him.

And they were getting closer. Dean could feel them nipping at his heels – literally – and he pushed himself to run faster, harder, but it wasn't doing him any good. No matter how hard he ran, the hounds would just speed up. They were gaining on him. He couldn't have more than a minute before they would catch him and-

He fell.

Then he screamed, curling himself up into a ball and trying to protect his head and chest, for all the good that that would do, but there were a dozen of them, all on top of him, their claws digging into his flesh as he-

"Dean!"

Someone grabbed his shoulder, and Dean jerked away, hands automatically rising to fight them off – whoever this mystery person was.

"It's okay, man, it's me," the person said, and Dean recognized it as Sam's voice. Except that didn't exactly help much, not when Sam's face was twisting into another hallucination, this one making him look as dead and skeletal as the hounds that had been hunting him in his dream.

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes tight, counting to three in his head before opening them again. That seemed to take care of it. At least, Sam's face was looking normal again, and now, Dean could see the concern written all over it as Sam asked, "You okay?"

"Fine," Dean said, and pushed himself up. He must've fallen asleep sometime during the drive, because he realized now that it was dark out, and the Impala was stopped in Bobby's front yard. Sam had opened the back door and was leaning forward into the car, watching Dean with worried eyes. Of course, there was no way in hell that Dean was going to acknowledge that Sam might actually have a good reason for being worried – not about Dean, at least – so he just said, "Come on, let's head inside."

Sam nodded and reached forward to offer Dean and hand, which Dean ignored – he wasn't that much of an invalid, he could get out of the freakin' car by himself.

His tee shirt was still wrapped around his leg. Dean made a face and carefully peeled away the fabric, but it looked like all the punctures had stopped bleeding by now. That was good news, at least. It still hurt like a bitch, but Sam didn't need to know that.

The shirt was destroyed to the point that there was no way that they could salvage it, so Dean just tossed it aside. No way was he going to be walking around shirtless, though, so he grabbed his blue jacket from where it had gotten thrown to the floor of the Impala at some point, god only knew when, and pulled it on before scooting his way to the open door and carefully climbing out.

And fuck, that hurt his leg. Dean sucked in a sharp breath, and this time when Sam tried to help him walk, Dean didn't say a word about it, just leaned on his brother gratefully as they made their way toward the house. It was slow. Luckily, Sam had been smart enough to park right by the door, so they didn't have far to go.

Bobby must've been waiting for them, because the moment that they approached the door, it flew open, and Bobby stepped aside to let them into the house. They didn't make it more than a couple of steps before Bobby strode forward and wacked Dean on the back of the head.

"Ow, Bobby," he complained, making a face and rubbing his head. "Come on, aren't I hurt enough?"

"What the hell were you thinking, boy?" Bobby demanded, not even acknowledging Dean's words. "Selling your soul to a demon? I've met a lot of idiots in my day, but you pretty much take the cake."

Dean frowned. "I had to, okay?" he snapped. "I didn't have a choice."

And he didn't. There had quite literally been one thing that he could've done in that moment, and that was exactly what he had done. And he was getting frickin' tired of people trying to tell him that he shouldn't have done it.

"There's always a choice," Bobby said.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Okay, fine, there was a choice," he said. "Would you rather that I chose to let Sam fucking die, because that was the only other option. So unless you're going to tell me that you'd rather have Sammy dead, I don't want to hear any shit about my choices, okay? It's over. I did it, and you're not going to change that by bitching about it."

For a second, Bobby didn't say anything, and Dean honestly expected him to keep arguing about it. He looked like he couldn't, though – not unless he wanted to make the argument that it would be better for Sam to be dead, and Dean knew that there was no way that Bobby could say that.

Finally, Bobby grunted and slammed the door shut, turning the lock closed tight. "Did you at least do something to clean out those wounds of yours, or were you being an idjit about those, too?"

"We didn't have time," Sam said with a frown. "We thought that it'd be better to get here as soon as possible."

Bobby nodded. "Well, you know where the first aid stuff is," he said, and turned away, heading back toward his living room.

Dean, though, shook his head. "Never mind about that," he said. "Do you have any idea what we can do to find Cas?"

Bobby turned back around. "I got some things. Go get yourself cleaned up, and then we can talk about it."

"I-" Dean started to say.

Bobby didn't even let him get through the first word. "You're not going to do anyone any good if your leg gets infected, boy," he said. "Go take ten minutes to care for yourself, and then I'll tell you what I've figured out."

Dean gritted his teeth, and wanted to push for Bobby to just hurry up and tell him now, but then Sam said, "I'll make sure that he does, Bobby."

"Fine," Dean snapped, and turned and limped toward the bathroom, while trying his best to make it look like he wasn't freakin' limping, since showing signs that he was hurt was just going to make them fuss over him more, and that was the last thing he needed.

He could rest up once Cas was safe and back here with them. Until then, there was no freakin' way that Dean was going to waste any more time than he had to.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, Dean's wounds had been cleaned with some anti-infection crap that had stung like an <em>absolute motherfucking bitch<em>, but at least it was supposed to keep his leg from turning green or falling off, so he figured he should suck it up and stop complaining. Not that that stopped him, until he had noticed that Sam was watching him with that guilty expression he sometimes got, like he thought that all this was somehow his fault. After that, Dean had figured that he'd better quit with the bitching.

The bleeding had already stopped, so they'd opted to skip the stitches. Instead, Sam had spent about ten minutes carefully bandaging up Dean's leg, with this look of intense concentration on his face, like he was doing rocket science or something. And that had made Dean come really close to breaking his "no bitching" decision, but he'd held his tongue and let Sam take his frickin' time.

Now, though, Dean figured he was patched up well enough, and there was no way that anyone was going to keep him from getting to work.

"You said that you knew some way to track Cas down?" Dean demanded as he and Sam joined Bobby in the living room. Dean carefully lowered himself into the nearest arm chair, but leaned forward, looking at Bobby intently.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, I've been looking all afternoon," he said, then frowned and added, "You know that it's always something like this with you two? For once I'd like you two to call me with some halfway-normal case, instead of some story about how Jimmy's name is actually Castiel, and he's been kidnapped by the demons that had come to drag Dean to Hell after he'd sold his freakin' soul."

Dean scowled. "Can you just show me what you've got?"

"Well, someone's touchy," Bobby said, but stood and picked up a piece of paper from his desk, and handed it over to Dean. "There. It's a Latin spell. Should give you the location of pretty much anyone you want, as long as you can picture them clear enough in your mind."

Dean snatched the paper up and scanned through it quickly. Most of the type was the Latin itself, which he skipped over – he knew enough Latin that he could recite what he needed to, but that didn't mean that he understood any of it. Instead, he just focused on the English stuff, which wasn't a lot, just some basic instructions. All you needed was some matches and a map. Seemed simple enough.

And familiar. This was the same spell that Ash had used to track down Dad for him, and probably the same one that Cas had used to find them.

Dean cleared his throat, then said, "Okay, this looks good. You got the stuff set up?"

Bobby nodded. "Tried it myself earlier, but it didn't do any good," he said. "Don't think I could picture him well enough. You two will have a better shot at it."

Dean frowned. The spell not working sounded like a frickin' bad sign, but then, maybe Bobby had been right about not being able to picture Cas well enough, since they'd only met the one time. Yeah, that definitely had to be the reason. "You got the stuff set up?"

Bobby nodded. "Got a map over here," he said, gesturing toward his desk.

Dean nodded, and started to stand. Before he could, though, Sam ripped the paper out of his hand. "I got this," he said. And Dean would've protested, but Sam shook his head. "I know Cas just as well as you do, Dean," he said in a low voice. "I can do the spell. Besides, my Latin is ten times better than yours, anyway."

Dean frowned, but he couldn't exactly argue with that one, even if it did piss him off that Sam was only offering because he thought that Dean was too hurt to do it. Except, well, Dean actually didn't want to have to stand up on his leg, not if he didn't have to. Don't get him wrong – he could totally do it, and he wasn't going to let a stupid injury slow him down.

But in this case, he just nodded and settled back into the chair, eyes locked on Sam as he crossed over to the map and picked up the matchbook that Bobby had set out for him.

Sam set the paper down beside the map, smoothing it out with one hand, then took a deep breath and started the chant. He read through the chant smoothly, without tripping over his words the way that Dean would've, and it only took him abut thirty seconds before he was striking the match and holding it above the map. Dean held his breath – which was stupid, and he knew it, but that didn't stop him from doing it, or from repeating please, please, please, in his head as Sam dropped the match.

The fire flared up at least two feet, forcing Sam to step back. That was a good sign, right? It meant that the spell had definitely worked this time. So now they'd know where Cas was. Or, they'd have a basic idea, at least. Dean was pretty sure that they were using a world map – figureed they'd start big and work their way down. But it wouldn't take long to do that at all. And as soon as they had a location, they could set off and go track Cas down, and-

"Nothing," Sam said.

Dean frowned, and pushed himself to his feet so he could limp over to the desk, despite his leg screaming at him in protest. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "How could there be nothing?"

Sam just shrugged, staring down at the desk like he didn't know how to explain it, either. "The map burned away completely," he said slowly, gesturing to the desktop, which was completely bare, just as Sam had said.

"Same thing happened when I tried it," Bobby said.

For a moment, Dean just stared. Then he nodded. "Okay," he said. "That spell doesn't work. We're going to have to try something else."

"Dean," Sam said, and shook his head. "You saw the fire. The map wouldn't have burned away like that unless the spell had worked."

"We don't know that," Dean snapped, because obviously there had to be some other explanation. The spell was a dud, or they'd messed it up somehow, or... Well, Dean didn't actually know what other explanation there could be, but there had to be one. And they'd figure out what it was, and then they'd manage to track Cas down. Because there was absolutely no way that it could be-

Sam took a deep breath, and nodded. "Okay," he said. "We can keep looking. But, Dean-"

"No," Dean said shortly.

Sam nodded again, and didn't say anything more.

"Got a couple more books on witchcraft," Bobby grunted. "Usually don't mess with the stuff too much, but you should be able to dig up some more tracking spells if you look hard enough. Maybe one of them will work."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, and held out his hand to take the book that Sam offered him, then turning and limping his way back to the nearest chair. He dropped into it and opened the book to a random page, and started skimming through it. Not exactly the most effective way to do research, but then, he could barely make himself focus on the words, anyway.

But he was going to find something, find a way to find Cas and bring him home if it was the last thing that he did.

Because he didn't care what the spell said. Cas couldn't be gone.

Dean was going to find him.


	26. Part 2 Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Dean heard Sam coming down the stairs, but didn't look up from the book he was reading through until Sam asked, "Dude, have you been here all night?" Only then did Dean glance up and blink around the room, suddenly realizing that yeah, it was already six in the morning and light was streaming in through the giant window on the other side of the room.

"Yeah," Dean said, and rubbed his eyes, trying to suppress a yawn. Geez, that explained why the words were swimming in front of his eyes so badly.

Sam frowned and sat down on the table in front of Dean, facing him. "I thought you were coming to bed right after I did," he said. "Seriously, I never would've left you down here if I'd known that you were going to be here all night. I would've come down here and dragged your ass to bed."

Dean shook his head. "I slept in the car yesterday, remember?" he said. "For, what? Six hours? That's enough to cover me for today."

Sam's frown deepened. "Um, no, it's definitely not," he said. Dean just ignored that, turning down to look at the book in his lap again, and after a moment, Sam asked, "So, have you found anything?"

"No," Dean snapped, then shook his head and switched to rubbing his temples. "I tried three other spells to try to find him, and nothing. Either my witchcraft just sucks, or else-"

And just like last night, he still couldn't finish that sentence, so he just grimaced and went silent.

Sam nodded. His expression didn't change, as if that had been exactly what he had expected, and the look in his eyes was grim. "What are you looking at now, then?" he asked.

For a moment, Dean didn't move, just glanced down at the book in his hands, not sure if he wanted to show it to Sam or not. Researching it himself was one thing, because then he could shove the book back onto the shelf later and pretend that it had never happened. Telling someone else? That seemed more… final. Still, though, after a moment, he lifted the book, just enough that Sam could see the cover.

"_Demonology and the Afterlife_," Sam slowly read out loud, then lifted his eyes to look at Dean. For a moment, he looked like he was going to ask why Dean would be looking at something like that. Then Dean saw the exact moment that he understood.

Dean swallowed, and looked away. "The spells would have found him if he was, you know, out there somewhere. And it's just-" He swallowed again, then finished, "I've never heard of demons being able to drag your soul downward unless you made a deal, but since the demons were the ones to take Cas- And, you know, it was kind of special circumstances. I just wanted to be sure."

"We don't know that that was what happened," Sam said at once, since he basically had to – what else was he supposed to say. "The spells could all have failed for other reasons." He didn't offer any suggestions for what those reasons could be, though. Dean hadn't expected him to.

Because Dean wanted to think that Cas was okay, that he was somehow wrong about what had happened to him. That this was another case like the shapeshifter one, where they'd find Cas somewhere and everything would be okay.

He didn't think it would be. Hell, he'd been lucky enough to get a miracle like that once. No way was the universe going to be kind enough to let it happen again.

"I just gotta make sure that he's not somewhere bad, wherever he ended up," Dean said in a low voice. He didn't exactly believe in Heaven, and he definitely didn't believe in God. But, well, people had to end up somewhere after they died, right? And Hell couldn't be the only option, or else the demons wouldn't be so eager to buy up souls and drag them down there. Meaning that Cas could be somewhere else, in the Great Beyond or wherever the fuck it was, and no way did Dean want to even think about that, but it was at least better than the alternative.

"I gotta be sure," Dean repeated, then scowled, his hands balling into fists. "Especially since whatever happened to him, it was my own fucking fault in the first place."

That got Sam's attention, and made his shift forward, the worry in his eyes growing stronger. "Dean-"

Dean shook his head. "Don't even try to give me a free pass on this one," he said, a warning in his voice. Because it _was_ his fault, and he knew it, and if Sam tried to say otherwise, then Dean was pretty sure that he was going to lose his shit completely. "The demons came to drag my soul to Hell, and he ended up being the one to get taken away. That kinda makes my fault, don't you think?"

Sam shook his head, and said, "You couldn't have known that this would happen."

Dean took a deep breath, and didn't say anything. He didn't need Sam to bullshit him to make him feel better. He knew the truth.

He'd been the one to keep this a secret, thinking it was just going to affect him, that nobody else needed to get hurt. And that had been so incredibly stupid that just thinking about it made him feel like he could barely breathe.

About a minute passed in silence, and then Sam shifted in his seat again, and said, "I want to talk to you about something." He paused for a moment, hesitating, then amended, "About you selling your soul."

Dean let out a low groan. "Seriously, Sam? Not a good time for this."

"I know," Sam said, in this low voice that was all filled with pain, and made it sound like maybe he did actually know, and continued, "but I'm going to say it anyway." Dean didn't respond, but apparently Sam just took that as an invitation, because he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together, watching Dean with that intense look he always got, then said, "You said that we can only talk to you about this if we'd rather that I stayed dead instead of you getting dragged down to Hell," he said, then paused for a moment before he added, "Which means that I'm pretty much the only one who can tell you about how wrong you were."

That sure as hell got Dean's attention. "What are you saying?" he demanded, lifting his head to look over at Sam.

Sam shrugged and spread his hands. "I'm not saying I want to be dead, because I don't," he said, sounding way too calm for this conversation. Obviously he'd planned this out ahead of time. "But seriously, Dean, what were you thinking? Spending an eternity in Hell to bring me back from the dead? You gotta realize that that's not okay."

"I saved your life," Dean snapped. "You could at least be grateful."

"And I am," Sam insisted, leaning even farther forward. He took a deep breath, and said, "Seriously, man... Thank you for doing it. But you gotta know that if I could go back and change it all, there would be no way that I'd let you do it again. I'd rather die when I was twelve and go to Heaven or whatever it is that's out there, instead of letting you rot in Hell for all eternity." Sam's voice broke a little on the word Hell, and he glanced away, taking a deep breath like he was trying to keep himself under control.

And honestly? Dean had never regretted selling his soul, not even when the Hellhounds had been coming for him and he'd been sure that he was seconds away from death. Now, though, he was starting to feel shitty.

"I had to do it," he insisted again. "Jesus, Sam, you know why I had to do it. No way could I live with you dead."

Sam didn't say anything. But slowly, he nodded. "Yeah, I get that," he said after a long moment of silence. "And honestly? If the positions were reversed, and you were the one who had died, I'd probably do the exact same thing."

Instantly, Dean stiffened, and he shook his head. "Don't you dare," he said, voice low. "Don't even think about it. Don't you dare think about doing anything crazy to try to get my soul back, or try to trade places with me, or something stupid like that."

Sam just looked him in the eyes. "I'm not," he said. "I'm going to find a way to kill Azazel and get your soul back for you, so that neither of us have to die. But that gives you an idea of how I feel about you selling your soul for me, doesn't it?"

Sam stood and walked away without saying anything else, leaving the living room without even looking back. Dean's hands clenched, just thinking about how he'd feel if Sam got himself killed to save Dean somehow. God, even the thought of it hurt like a fucking stab wound, he couldn't even imagine what it'd be like if Sam actually went through with something like that.

And okay, maybe it had been a dick move on his part to do the same thing to Sam, and to make Sam actually feel like that for real.

But he'd had to do it.

"Here," Sam said a minute later, reentering the living room. He bent down and set a cup of coffee and a bagel onto the table in front of Dean. "I figured there's no way that I'll convince you to actually get some sleep, so this is the next best thing."

For a moment, Dean just stared at them, his throat feeling strangely tight and his eyes wet. Which was ridiculous. He'd made it through the hellhounds' attack, and Cas getting taken, and every other thing that had gone wrong without bawling like a baby. He wasn't going to lose it over coffee and a frickin' bagel. It didn't matter if this was just the tipping point, like Sam doing one nice thing was enough to make him wanna break down about all of the other shit. It was still a sissy thing to do, and he wasn't going to give in. So he just nodded. "Thanks."

Sam didn't say anything, but he did go and drop down into one of the other chairs, facing Dean. And he had that look on his face again, like he wanted to have another Important Talk. Dean groaned and grabbed the coffee cup, gulping down half of it even though it burned his throat, until he felt a little steadier and less like he was going to break down over a stupid breakfast food. Then he could look at Sam and demand, "Okay, what is it this time?"

"I was thinking," Sam began.

"Well, shit," Dean said, taking another swig from the coffee. "That's always a really bad sign, isn't it?"

Sam didn't even look mad about that. That was how Dean knew this was serious. Instead, Sam bit his lip, looking hesitant as he said, "It's just, I had talked with Cas, right after we had found everything out. We'd been thinking about doing some research, to try to figure out where he had come from. And, you know, if he is still out there somewhere, then this would be a good place to start. And even if he's not-" Sam paused there, sucking in a long breath through his teeth, then said, "Even if he's not, I thought that you might want some answers."

It was about Cas. Of course it was about Cas.

"Fine," Dean said shortly, since he didn't think that he'd be able to make it through a longer answer. "Go ahead and do what you want. Just don't tell me about any of it."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, leaning forward with that concerned look on his face again. Well, that look had never exactly left Sam's face – it had pretty much become Sam's default expression ever since the Hellhounds had come – but now it was amped up to top volume again. "I could do all of the researching for you, if you'd rather not-"

"I don't want to know, okay?" Dean snapped.

He didn't want to know about where Cas had come from, or where he had lived for the thirty years before he and Dean had met, or even about what had made him lose his memories in the first place. It was just… Well, he'd feel stupid if he said that those memories were sacred, except that they were. Dean didn't want to learn anything new about Cas. He just wanted Cas to keep existing in his mind, exactly the same as he'd been when they'd known him.

Yeah, that was definitely stupid. He wouldn't even say it out loud to Sam. But that was how he felt.

Sam studied his face for a long minute, then nodded. "Alright," he said, and stood, heading over to the ancient computer that Bobby kept in the corner. "But you know, if you change your mind…" He didn't finish that sentence, just let the words trail off, then sat down and got to work booting up the computer.

For a moment, Dean just sat there, not saying or doing anything. Then he sat the coffee back onto the table in front of him – not bothering to even touch the bagel, even though it would make Sam throw a bitch fit later – then reached for his book again.

* * *

><p>The two of them worked in silence for about another hour before Sam grabbed Dean by the arm and practically dragged him to bed. And Dean was sure that Sam would have <em>literally<em> dragged him, too, if it wasn't for the fact that Dean's leg was still busted up and he didn't want to risk doing more damage.

And Dean hadn't exactly wanted to go, but he didn't kick up a fuss, either. If anything, it gave him an excuse to do something else besides stare at the page in front of him without actually reading a word.

Except that sleeping sounded like it would be even worse than just sitting on the couch and thinking, because now, he didn't even have something in front of him that he could pretend to focus on. He finally changed out of his torn-up, bloody jeans, peeled his jacket away from his sweaty skin, then pulled on a smelly tee shirt and pair of sweat pants that Sam had grabbed from the mass of dirty clothes that had piled up in the trunk of the Impala – the only clothes that they had, besides their FBI suits and other costumes, since the rest of their stuff had been left behind at the motel. Not that Dean cared, honestly. At least these clothes were almost cleaner.

But after he'd changed his clothes and crawled into the bed, there was nothing to do but stare up at the ceiling, with the hellhounds flashing in front of him every time he closed his eyes, their growls echoing in his ears. And even when he wasn't thinking about the hounds, he was listening to Cas' voice in his head again and again, like he was afraid that he was going to forget it if he didn't keep replaying the sound of it. He couldn't even be embarrassed about something so cheesy, either. It hurt too badly for that.

And when he did sleep- Well, that just meant that the hellhounds had full, uninterrupted access to his thoughts, and trust him when he said that they were getting their kicks. He didn't think that he slept for more than five minutes at a time, but his nightmares sure made the most of the time they had to work with. By the time that Dean stumbled back out into the living room a few hours later, he felt more exhausted than he had been when Sam had sent him to bed. But at least he'd lain down for long enough that Sam should stop giving him so much crap.

Sam was still sitting at the computer, but he didn't look like he was doing any more research. Instead, he was turned sideways in the chair, facing Bobby, the two of them in the middle of a deep conversation that cut off when Dean entered the room.

At least, that's what Dean thought was happening. It was hard to tell, because the hallucinations were getting worse.

Dean took a deep breath, grabbing the doorway for support, and glancing back and forth between the creepy monster-looking things that had to be his brother and Bobby. They had to be, because there was no way that two demons could've gotten inside Bobby's place, and if they had, then they wouldn't have been just sitting around so calmly. It was hard to remember that, though, when their skin looked like it was gray and peeling, and their eyes had been replaced with gaping holes, like their eyeballs had been gouged out and replaced with bottomless pits.

Another shaky breath, and Dean made himself enter the room. "Have the hellhounds found us yet?"

"No," Sam said, and his voice was deeper than usual, more gravelly, the words twisting until Dean could barely understand them.

So he was hearing voices now, too. Great. Having demons coming after his ass officially sucked.

"Bobby and I were just talking about that," Sam said, glancing over at Bobby, whose skin was starting to peel away, revealing the muscles and bones underneath. Dean grimaced and turned away, moving over to drop down onto the couch. "If the hex bags didn't work on the demons back at the motel, then it'd make sense that the demons would still be able to find us here," Sam continued. "But there's no sign of them."

"Maybe we just haven't been here for long enough," Dean suggested. Maybe the hounds wanted to drive him insane before they dragged him to hell, as punishment for getting away.

Sam shook his head. Or, Dean thought that Sam did, and that it wasn't just the hallucinated face warping and twitching. "Demons can teleport to wherever they want. If they knew where we were, it'd take them less than a second to reach us. So, why haven't they?"

"Don't know," Dean said, then decided that he was way too tired to say anything more, or to think of it further. He just slumped back against the arm of the couch, propping his injured leg up in front of him and closing his eyes, then quickly reopening them, since the stuff he saw behind his eyelids was way worse than anything that he saw in front of him.

"You okay, boy?" Bobby asked, and even with the hallucination warping his voice, Dean could hear the concern in the words. "Because you've been acting strange ever since you walked in here."

"I'm fine," Dean snapped. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Bobby didn't respond, just paused for a long moment, then asked, "You having any hallucinations?"

Dean stiffened, and wanted to lie. Except that his reaction was probably answer enough, so he just let out a slow breath. "How'd you know?"

"Because that's what happens when there are hellhounds on your trail," Bobby said, as if that should've been obvious. And, well, Dean had already known it, since he'd done all that research in the years leading up to the demons coming to collect, but he hadn't realized that Bobby knew about that, too. "Wasn't sure if it'd still be happening after you got away, though. There's not exactly a precedent for this kind of thing."

Dean rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I'm still seeing things," he said. "But it's fine. I'm dealing."

"Did you even get any sleep?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded again. "Yeah, I slept," he said, and glanced over at Sam, hoping that the hallucination would be better by now. They were, barely. Less of the twitching-writhing-demons thing and more of just a gray face with a gaping mouth and hundreds of teeth, which actually wasn't as creepy. And technically, Dean was telling the truth. He had slept. Just not well, and not for more than a half an hour combined time. Still, it counted.

"Dean," Sam said. He'd been doing that way too much lately. Dean turned and glared at him, and that must've been enough to make it clear that Dean really didn't want to hear it, because after a moment, Sam just turned and started typing something onto the computer again.

"You sure you're doing alright?" Bobby asked. "I mean, you know that you don't have to hide it if you're not. Hell, none of us expect you to be okay right now."

Dean shook his head. "Come on, Bobby," he said. "Don't start getting all sentimental on me now."

"I'm just telling you," Bobby said. But he thankfully didn't add anything after that, so Dean could just ignore him, and pretend that nothing had been said.

He didn't deserve sympathy for how fucked up he was. Not after he'd gotten Cas screwed up in this mess. Just the thought of someone feeling sorry for him made him feel like he was going to be sick.

Nobody said anything for a while, which was exactly how Dean liked it. Then, suddenly, Sam stiffened. "Dean," he said, voice urgent. "Look at this!"

Dean frowned. "What is it?" he asked, pushing his way to his feet. Which made pretty much every part of his body protest, and he was exhausted enough to make him unsteady on his feet, even without the limp making it worse. But, well, Sam wouldn't have called him over if it wasn't important.

"Look!" Sam said again, gesturing toward screen and looking at Dean. And Dean couldn't see the expression on Sam's face, not with the hallucinations getting in the way, but he thought that Sam's voice sounded almost… hopeful? Excited? Something like that?

So Dean took a look. Sam had pulled up some online news article with a headline reading MISSING MAN FOUND ON SIDE OF THE ROAD EARLY THIS MORNING. Dean scowled. "I swear, Sam, if you think we're going to jump into a case right now-"

"Just keep reading," Sam said, and his voice didn't sound any less urgent, so apparently the headline wasn't the thing that he was so excited about. So Dean sighed, but decided to humor his brother, and kept reading about this _thirty-two-year-old man who was discovered lying unconscious on the sidewalk next to Main Street at about two o'clock this morning. Police have been looking for James Novak ever since his disappearance roughly two months ago-_

Dean froze.

And he still might not be able to see Sam's face, but this time, he knew that his brother was smiling. Not a happy, la-dee-da, everything-is-perfect-now smile or anything like that, but he still looked way happier than Dean had seen him since the attack.

"Is this-" Dean said, and didn't say anything else. But part of him couldn't believe that this was actually a real thing, that Cas could possibly be-

But no, Sam was already nodding his head. "I confirmed it on another site," he said. "I wanted to make sure before I got your hopes up."

Dean swallowed. He probably should thank Sam for that. Instead, he just said, "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go."

"He's in a little town in Illinois," Sam said, and he was already standing and reaching for his jacket, which had gotten thrown to the floor the night before. "It'll take all day to get there."

"Then we'd better get a move on now," Dean said.

He started to turn away, but Sam reached out and grabbed his shoulder, bringing him to a stop. "Wait," Sam said.

Dean looked back at his brother, but Sam didn't say anything more, and it was impossible to read his face and figure out what the silence was supposed to mean. Dean scowled and rubbed his eyes, hard, squeezing them shut for several seconds. The he opened his eyes, and blinked, but his vision seemed like it was more or less back to normal. No telling how long he had before the hallucinations hit him again, but for now, at least he could see.

Except maybe that wasn't such a good thing, after all, because now that his vision was back to normal, Dean could see the frown on Sam's face, and the way that the worried look was back on his face. Shit, that was never a good sign.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"I did some research on Cas- Or, on Jimmy Novak," Sam said slowly. "And I know that you didn't want to know, but I really think that I should tell you."

Yup, no way was this anything good. Dean's stomach twisted, wondering what the hell could be so bad that it would make Sam still look so worried. Cas was fucking _alive_, and in Dean's book, that beat out anything that Sam could have possibly discovered.

Which was why Dean just said, "Fine, but you're gonna tell me after we hit the road."

"I really think-" Sam began.

Dean shook his head. "Seriously, Sam," he said. "We're going now. I swear, if you don't get your ass to the car in two minutes, then I'm taking off without you."

For a moment, Sam just stared at Dean, not saying anything, with that worried look still stuck to his face. Then he nodded. "Okay," he said, and pulled the keys from his jacket pocket. "But I'm driving." Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut him off. "You still look like you're going to pass out any second, and you just told me that you're having hallucinations. There's no way that I'm letting you behind the wheel."

Okay, Dean hated to admit it, but Sam kinda had a point. He scowled to show that he didn't approve, but he nodded. "Fine," he said, and turned and limped off as fast as his busted leg would let him. "Just don't be a baby about not wanting to break the speed limit, you got that?"

Honestly? He didn't mind so much. Cas was alive, and they knew where he was, and they were able to see him again. That was all that mattered, and Dean was going to get to him as fast as possible. Hell, he'd fucking fly if that was what it took.

* * *

><p>"You sure you don't want me to come with you two?" Bobby asked. And it was a nice offer, but it was also the third time that he'd made it, and Dean had to bite his tongue before he snapped.<p>

It had been maybe seven or eight minutes since Sam had told him about Cas being still alive, which wasn't as fast as Dean would have wanted, but at least they were finally in the Impala. Or, Dean was in the Impala. Sam was still standing outside, talking with Bobby.

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said, "but we'll be okay. Call us if you find any more info on how to gank Azazel."

Bobby frowned, but nodded. "Someone's gotta find a way to kill that bastard and keep you boys safe," he grunted. And honestly, the fact that he had all of his books gathered in his house already was probably the only reason why he hadn't insisted on coming with them. It was obvious that he'd wanted to come along and protect them but, well, that was kind of a pointless task, wasn't it? The demons were going to be coming for Dean's ass no matter what they did, and he wasn't going to be safe until Azazel was dead and Dean's soul was back where it belonged.

Sam nodded and clasped Bobby on the shoulder, and then finally climbed into the car, taking a moment to wave one more time before driving off.

Dean relaxed slightly once they hit the highway. Or, he relaxed as much as he could, considering the hallucinations and the lack of sleep and the fact that Cas had woken up on the side of the road, and that was a hundred percent better than being dead, but it still wasn't exactly awesome, and they still didn't know why he'd been taken or what had happened to him or-

So, yeah, Dean could definitely keep freaking out if he let himself. But they were on the road, and they'd reach Cas by tonight, and the hellhounds hadn't found them. Those were good things, right? And Dean was absolutely not going to lose his shit over this, not now. So instead, he just cranked up his radio until KISS was blaring at full volume and stared out at the fields as the car practically flew down the highway. Okay, so maybe Sam's driving wasn't so bad, after all.

They'd probably been driving for about twenty minutes when Sam suddenly reached over and turned the music off, then glanced over at Dean.

Dean frowned. "Dude, I know that I made that driver-picks-the-music rule," he said, "but you weren't supposed to be able to use it against me."

Sam just shook his head. "I already told you," he said. "We need to talk."

Dean swallowed. "Right. Something about what you learned from Cas."

"Yeah," Sam said, and holy fuck, his voice was grim. Seriously, whatever it was that Sam had to say, how could it be that bad?

Honestly, Dean didn't actually want to find out. He was almost tempted to tell Sam to stuff it, he didn't need to hear about any of this. Cas was alive and that was all that fucking mattered. Except he knew that Sam was too stubborn to leave it at that. He'd definitely keep at it until Dean gave in and just listened.

And, well, if it was a big deal, then that meant that Dean should hear it. To be prepared, or whatever. To make sure that if Cas had any problems, then Dean would be able to help him with them. Which was why he took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay," he said. "Hit me. What's the big secret that you figured out?"

For a second, Sam didn't say anything, then, "I don't think it was a secret. You heard Cas – he didn't remember anything from before he'd ended up on the streets. I think that he genuinely didn't know anything about this."

"Well, yeah," Dean said, because he didn't actually think that Cas would've deliberately kept secrets. Maybe that was stupid on his part, and he was being way too trusting, considering how long Cas had been letting them call him Jimmy. Not to mention the fact that Cas had come right out and said that he had another secret, one that Dean still didn't know the slightest thing about. But... Well, it was hard to explain. Dean knew that Cas hadn't been telling him something, but at the same time, he trusted that Cas wouldn't have kept some super huge secret, like whatever it was that was making Sam look so serious and upset. And if Sam thought that this was the kind of thing that Cas wouldn't have kept from them, then, well, there you go.

Of course, it'd be a hell of a lot easier to decide that if he actually knew what Sam was talking about. "Gonna need some details here, man."

Sam nodded, and kept his eyes locked on the road, his hands clenching around the wheel. "I started by doing research into Cas- into Jimmy Novak's disappearance," he said, and glanced over at Dean for a moment. "That was definitely the name that he was using before. Jimmy, I mean."

"Okay," Dean said slowly, eyeing Sam warily. So far, it all sounded like par for the course. "So, he goes through some weird shit that makes all of his memories vanish, and he decides to give himself a new name. Still not hearing the horrible part."

Sam's mouth pressed together into a thin line, and he continued, "Jimmy Novak was from Pontiac, Illinois, originally. From the sound of it, he was in Idaho for a cousin's wedding when he went missing from his hotel room, and nobody heard from him until early this morning, when someone found him unconscious on the side of the road." He glanced at Dean again. "The article didn't say if he had any other injuries, just that he'd been taken to the local hospital."

"Okay," Dean repeated, still staring at Sam, waiting for him to get to the bad part. When a minute passed without saying anything more, Dean finally said, "Okay, so the guy does have some family, after all. That's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah, he has family," Sam said, in a voice that made Dean think that this family of his had something to do with whatever it was that Sam had been trying to tell him.

"What?" Dean finally said. "He's got an evil twin who cursed him and erased his memories? One of his little siblings was attacked by Azazel and that's why Cas knows so much about him? Seriously, man, if you're going to tell me, then just come right out and tell me."

Sam nodded once. Then apparently he decided to follow Dean's advice, because he took a deep breath and said, "Jimmy Novak's married."

For a second, Dean didn't say anything. Neither did Sam, though Dean saw him giving Dean worried glanced every couple of seconds, so many of them that there was no way that he could be paying attention to whatever was happening on the road in front of him.

"He's married," Dean repeated, and shook his head. "What, he's got a husband out there that he just forgot about?"

"A wife, actually," Sam said, and based on the look on his face, it was obvious that there was something more that he wasn't saying. Dean didn't even bother to ask, just narrowed his eyes and stared at Sam until Sam gave in and added, "And a seven-year-old daughter."

Dean just blinked. He didn't even know how to respond to that. How the fuck did you respond to figuring out that your boyfriend was apparently married and with a freakin' kid.

What he finally did was take a deep breath, and nod. "You're right," he said tightly. "There's no way that Cas knew about any of this." For one, Cas had said that he didn't have family – or, specifically, he'd said that it was some super complicated situation that he didn't want to explain. And, okay, maybe that was suspicious. Maybe Dean should think back on how Cas obviously didn't want to answer those questions, and maybe he should conclude that Cas had had something to hide, and had been lying this whole time.

Except that no, there was no way that he could make himself believe that. Cas wasn't the kind of guy who would walk out on a wife and. And let's say that there was some reason that he had to avoid them – some noble reason, like he was trying to protect them from demons or shit like that, because that sounded like something that Cas would be willing to do. No way would he have started this whole relationship with Dean when he had a family somewhere. No fucking way would he go around saying that he loved Dean if he'd known that he had a wife at home.

Cas had only said it once, that last day before the hellhounds had come. Dean was pretty sure that Cas thought that Dean hadn't heard. But he had, even if he hadn't said anything about it.

So, just, no way had Cas known about any of this.

"Dean," Sam said, giving him yet another one of those stupid concerned looks, and Dean was just about getting ready to punch him if he kept this up. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Dean said – standard answer for everything, and it'd work now. Didn't matter if it was actually the truth or not. "I'm cool. It's just-" His voice broke off, and he didn't know what to say after that, so he just shook his head. "Fucking wife, man. And a kid. Just, how the hell?"

"I don't know," Sam said slowly, then said, "So, what do you want to do?"

Dean leaned forward, hand covering his face, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. "What do you mean?" he finally asked, and took a deep breath. "We keep heading to this hospital, wherever it is that Cas is staying. We work the case, figure out what exactly the demons had done to him, and why he'd ended up missing his memories in the first place."

"And what about- everything else?" Sam asked, hesitating for a moment like he wasn't sure what words he was supposed to use.

Dean didn't have a clue. It wasn't the kind of thing that there were easy steps to dealing with. And sure, he'd gotten it on with married people before – not that he'd known that until after the fact, because he wasn't that sleazy, but it'd happened. A quick hookup with a girl that'd been wearing a ring the next time he saw her. A brief experiment with a man in the back of a dark and smelly bar, the two of them just trying it out to see what it was like, and they'd been interrupted in the middle of the action when the guy's wife had called and ordered him home. It'd always made him feel shitty afterward, but it hadn't been his fault that they'd decided to do it, so he hadn't really thought about it much.

This was completely different, because Dean had actually been dating Cas. Seriously, he never saw someone more than once, unless it was for an encore performance of what they'd done in bed the night before. And the one time that he'd decided that he actually wanted to be with someone, and Cas turned out to be fucking married.

"It'll be fine," Dean said, and Sam just gave him a look, recognizing that answer as the bullshit it was, but at least he didn't say a word.

Dean wasn't sure if he meant it or not, not exactly. But, well, there wasn't exactly anything more that he could say, so instead he just turned toward Sam and asked, "Anything else that you need to tell me?"

Sam didn't say anything, but after a moment, he shook his head.

"Awesome," Dean said, and reached forward to turn the volume all the way up, letting the music drown out any of his thoughts.

It didn't exactly work, but at least it was loud enough that they wouldn't be able to talk about it. That was going to have to be good enough.


	27. Part 2 Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

They ended up getting stuck in traffic straight from the seventh circle of hell. Apparently there'd been some monstrous collision, over a dozen cars, blocking up the highway for miles. And Dean knew that he should be feeling bad for the people involved, because whatever had happened with that collision, it looked like it was bad. Instead, he found himself tapping his fingers on the arm rest, trying to keep himself from snapping with impatience, and not exactly succeeding. But Cas was in the hospital right now, and this stupid accident was just getting in the way.

"We'll get there, Dean," Sam said, in a voice that was probably supposed to be soothing, but just grated harder on Dean's nerves. Dean just clenched his jaw and didn't say anything.

"Do you want to try to catch some sleep while we're stuck here?" Sam suggested after a minute. "I mean, we're not doing anything else right now, you might as well." And Dean immediately shook his head and said that there was no way that he was going to do that, but Sam kept insisting, so Dean finally gave in and tilted his seat back, then closed his eyes. He didn't let Sam touch the volume on the radio, though. Some things were sacred, and Sam wasn't going to be messing with them.

Maybe Dean slept a little along the way. Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure. Every once in a while he'd get these feelings, like the hounds were on his trail again, like they were closing in on him and would be ripping the flesh from his bones any second if he didn't watch his back. It wasn't an actual dream, it was more subtle than that – a shiver running down his back, the sensation that someone was watching him, sometimes even a breath against the back of his neck, as if the hounds were close enough that he could actually feel them. And then he'd shudder and jerk awake, not quite sure if he'd actually been sleeping or if his mind had made all of this up while he was still awake.

It kept Sam off his back, at least. And it almost seemed like the time did pass faster, though it was still an eternity before they were pulling into some little town – Dean didn't care what the name was, but he knew that this had to be the place where Cas had been found. He tilted his chair back up and rubbed his eyes, hoping that however much he had or hadn't slept, it was going to be enough to get him through for at least the next few hours.

"It's almost midnight," Sam said, and Dean frowned and blinked at the clock. But yeah, Sam was right. Well, shit, they'd been supposed to get here three hours ago, the traffic had really set them back. But whatever. At least they were here.

"Visiting hours are definitely over," Sam said. "Maybe we should find a motel and go in the morning."

Dean frowned. "Seriously, Sammy?" he demanded. "After all the shit we've done, you have a problem with breaking into Cas' hospital room outside of visiting hours? Really?"

"Honestly?" Sam asked. "No, most of the time I wouldn't have a problem with it. But with everything that's been going on, I don't know, it might just be a good idea to wait." He looked Dean over for a moment, then added, "Not to mention that you still look like shit. How are we going to sneak in there if you're on the verge of collapsing any moment?"

"I'm not going to collapse," Dean snapped. "Trust me, I've kept going through a lot worse that this before, never let it slow me down." That was... probably a lie, but it was kinda hard to tell, he'd gotten himself pretty messed up before. And even if it wasn't true, well, Dean wasn't going to admit to that. And he definitely wasn't going to say that Sam was right about the motel room.

"We don't know what to expect when we go in there, or how bad his injuries will be," Sam said. "I'm worried about you, okay?"

"Don't be," Dean snapped. "Whatever is wrong with Cas, I can take it, okay? And I'm not letting that stop me from going to see him."

Sam nodded, but kept hesitating, like there was something else that he wanted to say. Finally, he added, "And what do we do if his wife is staying overnight in the room with him."

Shit. Dean hadn't even thought about that.

"We improvise," Dean said after a moment. "We've talked ourselves out of sticky situations before. We can come up with something to tell her." And that definitely wasn't how he wanted the meeting to happen, but if it went down like that, then he'd deal. They'd decide on something to say to her. It would work out somehow.

No way was he going to let something like that stop him from seeing Cas.

And Sam seemed to get that, the fact that Dean needed to go to that hospital now, that he was going to lose his shit if he had to wait until morning. Or, at least, the long look that Sam gave him made Dean think that Sam understood, which Dean didn't exactly want, but at least it led to Sam finally nodding and saying, "Okay, we go now."

"Thanks," Dean said, and Sam just nodded again, then hit his turn signal and moved over into the next lane.

* * *

><p>Finding Cas' room was a bit of an adventure, since they hadn't had the slightest clue where he was, or even which ward he was being kept in. Dean figured that he'd better stand back and let Sam handle that – he wasn't in the mood to be charming or convincing, and anyway, Sam seemed to more than have that covered. He headed up to the nurse's station, all smiling and charming, but also looking terrified in a way that probably wasn't fake at all. Dean already knew what the plan was – Sam was posing as a relative who had just gotten into town, and was practically begging for "Jimmy's" room number so that he could visit first thing in the morning. Dean didn't have to bother listening, so he just leaned against the wall and stared at some stupid modern art crap that was hanging on the wall across from him, and a minute later, Sam came over and joined him. "Room 357," Sam said in a low voice. "Down that hall and to the left."<p>

Dean nodded, and Sam pulled out his phone, leaning back against the wall and holding it to his ear like he was talking to someone. Good way to make them look less suspicious – the nurses weren't going to be wondering about why they were still hanging around if they thought that they knew the reason, and making a phone call seemed like as good of one as any. Dean was too exhausted to make the effort, though, so he just turned to watching the nurses' station out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the nurse sitting there to walk away. She never did, but at one point she turned her chair around to do something on a computer, turning her back on Cas' hall. Dean decided that that was good enough, and nodded to Sam, the two of them casually walking down the hall like they had every right to be here.

Nobody saw them. They reached the room without any problems at all, and Dean knew that they should duck inside immediately, to not take the risk of a nurse coming around the corner and catching them sneaking around. Instead, Dean ended up frozen outside the door, staring at the piece of paper reading NOVAK, JAMES on the outside of the door.

Sam touched his shoulder, but didn't say anything, which Dean was glad for – if Sam had tried out any of his "comforting" words right then, Dean seriously would have had to hit him. Instead, Dean just took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, telling himself that being scared of this was stupid. Then he pushed open the door.

The first thing he noticed was that all of the chairs were empty. Apparently Cas' wife wasn't spending the night, after all. And Dean had just enough time to be relieved about that before his eyes fell on Cas' body.

He looked... good. That was a weird thing to think, especially about someone who was in the hospital, but honestly, that was Dean's first thought. But he wasn't injured – or, if he was, then they were hidden by the blankets, because his face and arms were completely untouched. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing evenly, and his face looked exactly the same way that it did every other time that Dean had ever watched him sleep. If it wasn't for the IV and the hospital gown, then Dean wouldn't have been able to tell that there was anything wrong at all.

He swallowed, hard, then moved to the chair closest to Cas' bed. "You know anything about what's wrong with him?" he asked, keeping his voice low, not wanting to wake Cas up.

"No," Sam said, in the same tone of voice. "No idea. The article didn't say anything about why he was in the hospital, and I haven't gotten the chance to do any other research. We can- Or, I can go dress up like FBI later and get the full report, but right now, I don't think we'll be able to find anything new."

Dean nodded, and leaned forward, to get a better look. Even when he was closer, Cas still looked alright. He wasn't even pale, for crying out loud. There was absolutely no signs that he was anything but perfectly healthy.

"It's gotta be something, though, right?" Dean said after a moment. "I mean, I can understand them loading him into the ambulance after he was found on the road, even if he was fine. But they kept him here all day. That means that he's got to be hurt somehow, right?"

Sam didn't answer, then seemed to realize that his silence was answer enough, because he said, reluctantly, "Yeah, there's got to be something."

Dean nodded. He hadn't exactly needed Sam to confirm that; it'd been easy enough to figure out on his own. "That means something internal. Something we can't see."

"Yeah," Sam agreed after another moment, still sounding reluctant. He picked up the chart from the end of Cas' bed and squinted at it for a moment, then made a face and put it back. "Doctor's handwriting," he said, in way of explanation. Dean nodded, and thought about taking a look at it himself, just to see if he could decipher it. But then, if Sam couldn't manage to read the chart, then there was no way that Dean would stand a chance.

Instead, he reached forward and took Cas' hand gingerly. The anti-possession sigil that they'd drawn was just barely visible on his skin, faint enough that it wouldn't be noticeable if Dean hadn't already known that it was there. He still couldn't see any markings on his arm, and no bandages or casts, which meant that his arm should be completely fine, and there probably wasn't a reason to treat it like glass. But Dean couldn't exactly help it. Until he figured out what was wrong with Cas, he didn't want to risk doing anything that could make it worse.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said in a low voice – which was stupid, because he was still trying to keep Cas from waking up. The guy probably needed his rest, whatever had happened to him. Dean planned on letting him sleep, so talking to him seemed a little counterproductive. But that was another thing that Dean couldn't seem to help but do.

"You look pretty awesome for a guy who was kidnapped by demons a couple days ago," he continued, then cleared his throat suddenly feeling like an idiot, and way too aware of the fact that Sam was standing behind his chair, pretending that he wasn't paying attention. Dean just frowned, and said, "We'll talk when you wake up, okay? For now, just rest up. We'll be here."

Sam waited for another minute, still staring at the wall like the blank white paint was some fascinating masterpiece, but when Dean didn't say anything more, he moved around to the other side of the bed and sat in the chair across from Dean. "Glad you're safe, Cas," Sam added after a moment, probably trying to make Dean feel less stupid abut talking to Cas. Which was nice and all, but kind of had the opposite effect.

A few more minutes passed in silence, then Sam cleared his throat. "We're going to have to avoid the nurses," Sam said, making Dean send him a questioning look. "When they come in to check on him during the night," Sam clarified. "We're not allowed to be in here. If they find us, they'll make us leave."

Dean nodded. "We'll just hide out when they come by." He could duck under the bed if he had to. Or just head for the private bathroom that was attached to the room – actually, that seemed to be the best bet. They'd just stick in there until the nurse was gone, then he could go back to sitting next to Cas. "And I bet the nurses are going to wake him up. Isn't that what they do? To draw blood and stuff?"

"Yeah," Sam said with a nod, then pushed himself to his feet. "I'll go keep watch, then."

"Thanks," Dean said, then returned his gaze to Cas' face.

He decided that he wasn't going to say anything more. Definitely not. And he for sure wasn't going to talk about how much he had worried about Cas, or how glad he was that Cas was alive – not with Sam in the room, and probably not ever.

Still, though, he was thinking it. And he thought that Cas would be able to sense that, too. Just as soon as he woke up.

* * *

><p>"Dean," a voice hissed in his ear.<p>

Dean jerked upright, one hand instinctively rising to attack whoever was after him, but whoever it was grabbed his arms and pushed them down, holding them to the armrests of the chair and keeping him still. Dean tried his best to jerk away, ready to lash out and attack... Sam.

"It's okay," Sam said, but there was an urgent note to his voice. "Just come on, we should go."

"What?" Dean asked, blinking and looking around the room. He suddenly remembered where he was. Cas' hospital room. Right. Cas was still lying in the bed, looking like he hadn't even moved in the past however many hours. Then Dean frowned. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah, about two hours ago," Sam said, and Dean blinked. Huh. That was weird, because he didn't remember having any nightmares, and he also couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to sleep without being hit with at least one of them.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter," Sam said, and he let go of one of Dean's wrists, but held onto the other, and was trying to pull him up to his feet. "Come on, we're not supposed to be here, and-"

Sam didn't get the chance to finish that sentence, and Dean had just long enough to wonder about what could possibly make Sam think that they should leave when a voice behind them asked, "Who are you?"

Dean stiffened, and turned around in his chair. There was a blonde woman standing in the doorway, holding the hand of a young girl who looked so much like the woman, it was obvious that they have to be mother and daughter.

Daughter. Somehow, that word made it sink in for Dean, and he suddenly realized who these people must be. Cas' wife and his kid. His family.

Dean swallowed, and he might have been the one who had said that they'd be able to improvise the first time that they met the wife, but now, he couldn't think if a single thing to say. So it was lucky that Sam was more on top of it than he was at the moment, because Sam just pasted on a smile and stepped forward, hand extended. "Sam Winchester," he said. "And this is my brother, Dean. We're friends of... Jimmy," he said, stuttering just a bit over the name, like he wasn't sure if he should say it or not. "You're Amelia, right?"

Amelia. The wife apparently had a name. Which, well, obviously she had to, but somehow, Dean hadn't thought about it that closely. But, well, now he knew.

He decided that he didn't like having an actual name and face to associate with Cas' wife. It made it about a hundred times more real, somehow.

She nodded, reaching out and shaking Sam's hand, though she still looked a little suspicious. "I've never met you before," she said slowly, eyes narrowing as she glanced from Dean to Sam, then back again.

Dean realized that he was still holding Cas' hand, and quickly dropped it. God only knew what Amelia was thinking when she saw that.

"We, uh, we just met Jimmy recently," Sam said, his voice cautious in the way that it always was when he was making things up on the fly, though Dean doubted that Amelia would be able to notice. "We just found out about him going missing recently, when we saw the article about him being in the hospital. I'm sorry, we didn't know anything about it before then."

Amelia nodded, and her eyes drifted toward Cas' face, almost like she couldn't help herself, though she tore her eyes away from him long enough to look at Sam. "Visiting hours just started five minutes ago."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, and shrugged. "We wanted to get here early."

Amelia nodded again, almost absently, once again looking back at Cas – at her husband. Dean grimaced just thinking the word, but made himself repeat it in his head. He was going to have to get used to it eventually.

"This is Claire," she said, her free hand moving to the shoulder of the girl, who looked like she was gradually edging her way closer and closer to her mother's side. Amelia didn't say anything else, just moved toward Cas' bed, circling around to the side opposite Dean. Amelia steered Claire into the nearest chair, where she sat, looking way too sad for a seven-year-old kid. Amelia grabbed a second chair for herself and pulled it up to the side of the bed, then reached forward and wrapped her hand around Cas', exactly the same way as Dean had last night.

The sight made Dean's throat feel way too tight. Okay, it wasn't just that Cas had a wife – he had a wife who obviously loved him, and a daughter that looked absolutely heartbroken, and that just made everything so much worse.

If Cas and his wife hadn't gotten along, or if they'd been on the verge of splitting up, then maybe Dean could justify what he and Cas had done. But seeing Amelia, the way she looked at Cas, the way she touched him? God, it made Dean feel like shit. And more than that, it made him almost jealous, and wasn't that a fucked up thought?

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his mind from going down that path, and focused on the stuff that was more important. "So, what's wrong with him?" Dean asked, looking toward Cas' face. He would've thought that the noise would've been enough to wake Cas up, but apparently not. His face didn't change at all, not even a twitch.

"He-" Amelia began, then broke off, shaking her head. "Nothing's wrong with him. Or, the doctors couldn't find any signs of injuries, at least. They said that he's perfectly healthy. He just… won't wake up."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. No visible injuries – that definitely sounded like it was something unnatural. "The doctors have any idea why?" Sam asked, leaning against the side of Dean's chair.

Amelia grimaced. "They gave me some explanation," she said. "Something about the brain just not being ready to wake up, and about how there's nothing we can do but wait. Honestly, I'm pretty sure that that means that they have no idea." She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, her hand tightening harder around Cas'. "They're taking him for some more tests today, to see if there's anything they missed the first time. I don't know if I should hope that they find something or not. I mean, which scenario would be worse?"

She didn't sound like she was waiting for an answer, but Dean still swallowed hard and said, "I don't know." Because really, what would be worse? He couldn't answer that, and for different reasons that she was thinking. If Cas wasn't actually hurt, then it'd mean that the demons had done something to him that was keeping him unconscious, or that there was some other supernatural thing going on in his head right now.

Dean swallowed again, and nodded to himself. If this was something supernatural, then he and Sam were going to figure it out, like it was any other case. They'd find a way to wake Cas up, and everything was going to be fine.

He was so intent on thinking of what could've possibly caused this that he didn't even realize that Amelia was speaking until a second after she'd finished. Then he frowned. "What?"

"How do you know my husband?" Amelia asked, taking her eyes off of Cas now, and turning to look at Dean. "You… said that you just met him recently."

"Oh, right," Dean said, then couldn't think of anything else to say after that. What the hell was he supposed to tell her? He couldn't exactly say that Cas had been traveling the country killing monsters with them.

Again, though, Sam ended up being the one to answer. "We just sort of ran into him a couple months ago, and hit it off," he said with a small shrug. "Dean and I... We've basically been driving around working some odd jobs here and there, and Jimmy didn't look like he had anywhere to go, so he ended up sticking with us for a while." Sam still grimaced slightly at the name Jimmy, though not enough to be obvious from anyone else. And yeah, Dean knew how he felt. It didn't make sense, since they had spent most of the past couple months thinking that Jimmy was actually his name, so it should be easy to slip back into calling him that. It wasn't, though. Something about the name just felt weird now.

Amelia nodded, a small frown on her face. "And did he... mention us at all? Or why he left?"

Sam immediately glanced at Claire – and oh yeah, they should be worried about the kid, too, shouldn't they? She had pulled a book out of her bag and was now curled up in the chair, staring hard at the page in front of her, but it was obvious that she was listening. She wasn't even good at hiding it – Dean saw her lift her head to glance at them every couple seconds.

Still, though, apparently Sam decided that he had to answer honestly, because he slowly shook his head. "No," he said. "Until yesterday, we didn't even know that he had family."

Amelia let out a long breath, and nodded. "Okay," she said, and took another deep breath, looking like she was trying to steady herself.

Honestly, Dean felt like he needed to do the same thing. But he'd decided that this was going to be like any other case, right? So, during a regular case, this would be the part where they started asking questions to try to figure out what was going on. He'd start with that.

"So, did, uh, Jimmy act any differently before he disappeared?" Dean asked, nearly tripping over the name. Seriously, Dean had called him Jimmy for months; it should not be that hard to go back to using that name. "I mean, did he do anything to indicate that he was going to go? Or was there any weird behavior at all?"

"No," Amelia said at once, shaking her head as well, sending her messy blonde hair forward into her face. "There's no way he would've left. Police said that it looked like he must have run off, especially after his credit card was used to buy train tickets a couple weeks later. But I was sure that something must have happened. He was-" Another deep breath. "We weren't perfect or anything, but he loved us, and we were happy. I knew that he wouldn't have left. He-" Again, she broke off, this time to shake her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"No, go ahead," Sam said at once. "We're really concerned about Jimmy. We want to know what happened, as much as you do." He paused, long enough to look her in the eye, then asked, in the encouraging voice that he always used to pry info out of witnesses, "You're sure that nothing weird happened on the day that Jimmy disappeared?"

Amelia considered for a moment, then shook her head. "Nothing," she said.

Dean frowned, and exchanged a look with Sam. Okay, so that could mean pretty much anything. Some supernatural attacks gave warnings, some of them didn't. But then, even if Amelia didn't think that anything had been wrong with Cas – Jimmy – that didn't mean that it was true. Knowing Cas – Jimmy – he would have made a point of not worrying her, unless he thought that he had to. So there was a chance that he'd been showing symptoms, and Amelia just didn't know it.

So, that meant that they had absolutely nothing. Awesome.

Then Claire lifted her head slightly, and said, "Daddy didn't come to the wedding with us."

Sam frowned. "What was that?"

"Oh, that," Amelia said, and bit her lower lip, worry appearing on her face. "It was nothing. Or, at least, it seemed like nothing. We were out of town for my cousin's wedding, and we were getting ready to leave when Jimmy got this bad headache. That's what he said, at least. He hated my cousin – I was half convinced that he'd made it up so that he wouldn't have to go. But anyway, we left him alone at the hotel, and when we got back, he was gone."

Sam immediately looked over at Dean, eyebrows raised. Dean nodded, the motion slight enough that Amelia hopefully wouldn't pick up on it. But Cas had said that he had woken up in a random hotel room, all alone. And he'd been wearing nice clothes – or, what had obviously once been nice clothes, before he'd ended up on the streets – when they'd met up with him, and it looked like he'd been in it a while. If he'd been dressed up for a wedding, that would explain why.

Which meant that the headache was definitely involved. That gave them a starting place, at least. Dean could practically see the gears twirling in Sam's head, like he was already running through the possibilities, trying to decide what could have caused this, his fingers practically twitching to start typing stuff into Google, or however it was that he found all the shit that he learned online.

"Thanks," Dean said, nodding at Claire. The girl didn't say anything, just lowered her head to hide behind her book, until only her hair was visible from behind it.

"So," Amelia said slowly, her voice a weird mixture of concerned and suspicious. "Jimmy's been with you, doing odd jobs for the past couple months? Where exactly have you been?"

Dean leaned back in his chair, letting Sam handle this one again. It seemed easier than trying to come up with something himself.

"We just kind of end up wherever the road takes us," Sam said. "And yeah. Like I said, we met up with him, and started talking. He didn't have a place to go, so we offered to give him a lift to this bar we know – the owner's always hiring, and she'll let people stay for free if they're in a bind. That sounded like as good a place as any. But then he just ended up sticking around."

And Dean had to admit, that was probably the best story. Just close enough to the truth that it could almost pass for it, just without the demons and monsters. And the fact that Dean and Cas were dating.

Dean was really hoping that she didn't find out about that part. He knew that he should probably tell her, give her all the info and all that. But he also knew that he definitely wasn't going to.

Amelia just nodded, her face not moving at all. And Dean tried to keep watching her, trying to figure out what she was thinking, but his eyes kept getting drawn back to Cas. He still hadn't moved at all, not so much as a twitch. It was unnerving, and just made Dean about ten times more worried, but at the same time, he couldn't look away.

"And did he seem okay?" Amelia asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen. "I mean, was there anything odd about his behavior? Anything I should know about?" She paused, then said, "There had to be, right? He wouldn't just get up and leave us if there wasn't something wrong."

Sam frowned, and Dean could pretty much see him weighing his options, trying to decide what he was supposed to say, what answer to give.

"Actually-" Sam said.

"No," Dean said, cutting him off. Amelia turned to him, and he cleared his throat. "No, he seemed completely normal. No problems. Nothing in particular."

She eyed him like she wasn't entirely sure if she believed that, but slowly, she nodded. "Okay," she said, then closed her eyes for a moment, her face crumpling slightly. Dean suddenly realized that she was close to fucking crying, like she was barely holding it together, and shit, he wasn't prepared for that. How the hell were you supposed to comfort your boyfriend's wife while you were sitting next to his unconscious body? No way were there any etiquette tips on how to deal with this one.

Then Amelia took a deep breath, and opened her eyes without actually crying, so that was good, at least. Instead, she said, voice shaking slightly, "Could you two maybe give us some time alone with him? I- Thank you for coming here so early, but if you don't mind leaving..."

Dean frowned, and was about to say that hell no, they weren't going anywhere. Sure, he got that she was his wife, and he'd been missing for months, so of course she was going to freak out. But she wasn't the only one who had been worried about him – who was still worried about him – and Dean wasn't going to leave his side. Not unless it was to find some way to free him from whatever supernatural crap was messing with his head.

Then Sam's hand suddenly closed around his shoulder, hard, fingers digging into Dean's skin. "Okay," Sam said, and gave Dean's shoulder a light tug. "Come on, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam just gave him a look, silently ordering him not to argue. Not that that would have stopped him, but then he made the mistake of looking across the bed, just in time to see Claire lower her book, and the look on her face was frickin' heartbroken. It as obvious that this family was all torn up, and they wanted to be alone to deal with it, without having outsiders around to watch.

And that's what he and Sam were, Dean suddenly realized. Outsiders. Cas might not think so – Dean was almost positive that Cas wouldn't think so – but at the moment, that didn't make a difference.

Dean swallowed, and stood, being careful of his bad leg. "We'll be back later," he said, as much a warning as a promise. He would give them a little time right now, only because he had to, but he wasn't going to stay away for long, that was certain.

Amelia just nodded, not glancing over at them, and Dean took one last look at Cas before turning and limping out the door.

They made it about halfway down the hall before Sam moved close to Dean and asked, "You okay?"

Dean nodded once, but otherwise, didn't bother to answer that question, since it was stupid and he was getting sick of it.

Sam nodded back, and looked like he was hesitating, but he finally decided to say what he was thinking. "Why did you tell Amelia that nothing was weird with Cas?"

Dean just shrugged, deciding that that was one question that he really didn't want to answer. Instead, he just continued down the hall, doing his best to ignore the way that Sam continued to look at him.

Finally, apparently Sam decided that just looking at Dean wasn't going to do enough, because he said, "Seriously, Dean. I mean, I don't want to be the one to say it, but don't you think that she has a right to know about what's been happening? At least about the fact that he lost his memories."

"Yeah, probably," Dean said reluctantly.

That clearly wasn't the answer that Sam was expecting, because he immediately continued, "We should at least warn her for when Cas wakes up and doesn't remember who she is."

"Yeah, I said that I know that," Dean snapped, scowling over at his brother.

And Sam frowned, like he just now realized that yeah, Dean had actually said that. "So then, why did you say that everything was fine?"

Dean just shrugged and looked away, crossing his arms, his fingernails digging into the sleeves of his jacket.

"Dean," Sam said, sounding more concerned now that anything else.

"Because I don't want to tell her, okay?" Dean snapped, and shook his head. "Never mind. I'll tell her next time."

In Dean's mind, that should have been that, end of subject. Apparently Sam didn't agree, though, because he still had that damn worried look on his face, and said, "Really, Dean, if something's wrong-"

"If something's wrong?" Dean demanded, and couldn't help but laugh. "Dude, there is so much wrong right now. Seriously, name one thing that isn't fucked up right now. Just one. Try."

Sam ignored him. "I'm just saying that you can talk to me, alright?"

Dean made a face. "Thanks, Dr. Phil," he said, "but you can go ahead and shove your therapy up your ass, I don't need it."

What was he supposed to tell Sam, anyway? That he was pissed at Amelia for having some claim to Cas – _Jimmy_, goddamn it – that Dean didn't? That he didn't want her to know about the stuff that they'd done together, not because they had to keep the hunting a secret, but because Cas was _his_ and he didn't want this woman to take him away, didn't even want her to know anything about who Cas had been the past couple months when he'd been with Dean. Yeah, no, he wasn't saying that out loud. And anyway, there was point in getting Sam's opinion on any of this. If he needed someone to tell him that he was fucked up and selfish, then he could just say it to himself.

"I'm just worried about you, man," Sam said.

"Well, could you tell me what I can do to make you stop worrying?" Dean snapped. "Because seriously, I'm sick of hearing that from you."

Apparently Sam took that as a serious question, and actually looked like he was considering before he answered. "You could start by getting more rest."

"Seriously?" Dean demanded, and shook his head. "More sleep? Jesus, Sammy, that's all you've said to me the past couple days. Can't you switch to nagging me about something else, just to change it up a bit?"

Sam just gave him the bitch face. "I'll stop nagging you once you actually sleep for more than two hours in a row," he said, "and when you stop looking like you're going to pass out any second."

Dean definitely would have responded with some snappy comeback – he didn't know what, but it would've been awesome – when his phone rang. He instantly reached for his phone, yanking it out of his pocket and nearly dropping it in his hurry to check the caller ID. He couldn't think of anyone who'd be calling him except for Bobby, and he couldn't think of any reason why Bobby would call him, unless he had found something about Cas or Azazel or both. Either way, it was bound to be something useful, and Dean could go for some good news right then.

It wasn't Bobby, though.

It was Dad.

"Dean?" Sam asked, leaning forward and looking concerned. "You okay?" Then he caught sight of the caller ID, and his eyes narrowed.

Dad had said that he wasn't going to work with them again. That if they walked away, they couldn't come back. And when he'd refused to answer Dean's calls, Dean had been pretty sure that he'd meant it. So what was he doing calling up now?

"You going to answer it?" Sam asked after a minute. And it was pretty obvious that Sam didn't want him to, but at least he didn't say that out loud.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said. Yeah, he definitely should answer it. This had been what he'd wanted, to talk with Dad again. And it had to be something important, because there was no fucking way that Dad would call otherwise. So Dean should be the good son and answer the call, figure out what Dad needed.

He didn't, though. The phone just kept ringing.

Because honestly? He wasn't sure what he was supposed to think about Dad. Dad had thrown them out and not talked to Dean in the last days before Dean had been supposed to fucking die, and insulted Cas and made it clear that they weren't welcome in the family anymore. And part of Dean didn't care – because this was dad, for crying out loud, how was he supposed to get upset about all of that when the man had raised them? Another part was still mad, though, and he was trying to shove that part of him way down deep, the way that he always did when Dad or Sammy pissed him off, but it wasn't working so well this time.

But more than that, he was just way too tired to try and figure out what he was supposed to say to Dad, and if he was supposed to forgive him – ignoring the voice in his head that demanded to know how he could possibly even consider the idea of not forgiving Dad. And what if Dad was calling with some breakthrough in the case, something that he wanted Dean to come help with? He couldn't leave Cas, not now. He also couldn't tell Dad no.

And if this led to Sam and Dad fighting again? God, even the thought made him shudder. He was pretty damn certain that he couldn't take that, not right now, on top of everything else.

The phone stopped ringing. Dean had spent too long thinking about it, and had lost his chance to answer. No big deal. He could always just call back.

Instead, he shoved the phone back into his pocket. "I'll talk to him later," he said in a low voice, one that dared Sam to comment.

And he didn't. He stared at Dean for way longer than Dean was comfortable with, with that look that he got a lot, the one that said that he was overanalyzing everything and probably finding some deep, hidden meaning behind everything that Dean did. But at least he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he just nodded. "Okay," he said. "Let's start by finding a motel room, and then we'll figure it out from there."

"Sounds good," Dean said, and then neither of them said another word as they headed off for the parking lot.

* * *

><p>The hallucinations didn't bother him all morning. Maybe it was somehow related to the fact that he'd actually managed to get a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep for the first time in god knew how long, but he made it all the way until noon without seeing anything that shouldn't have been there.<p>

He should've known that it wouldn't last.

Dean pushed himself up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his head, and decided that this was about as good as it was going to get. He was still exhausted, way more so than he would ever admit to Sammy, but at least he felt better than he had that morning. And anyway, he wanted to get back to the hospital.

"Sam?" he asked, opening his eyes and glancing around the room, trying to see if his brother was around.

He froze.

At first, he didn't understand what he was seeing. He stared at the... at the thing sitting on the couch where his brother should be, and he was certain that it was real, like it had crawled out of hell to come torment him and then drag his soul back down with it. And god, he didn't even want to try to describe it. It was all peeling skin and rotting flesh and shredded muscles, bone fragments poking through what little skin was left, except just describing that didn't do it justice. Because seriously, Dean had seen some spooky shit in his day, and he prided himself on not being scared of any of it. This, though? Completely different story.

It took him about three seconds to realize that it was another hallucination.

That was probably the scariest three seconds of his life. Not counting the time that Sam had died.

"Dean?" Sam asked. "You okay?"

God, Dean hated that question. He had to admit that Sam had a pretty good reason for asking it this time, at least, especially since Dena could still feel his pulse pounding way too hard in his ears, and he was pretty sure his breathing wasn't exactly normal.

Sam didn't wait for an answer. "They're getting worse, aren't they?"

Dean gritted his teeth, but finally nodded. "Yeah," he admitted, because Sam would see through any lie he tried to tell. Then he squeezed his eyes tight, counting to ten – his old standby, the way that he'd always been able to get the images to vanish these last couple days.

He opened his eyes. And whatever creature he was hallucinating in Sam's place, it was still there.

"We need to figure out some way to stop this," Sam said after a moment.

Dean shook his head. "What we need is to find a way to wake Cas us," he said, "and a way to figure out what happened to him in the first place. I can handle a few little hallucinations."

"Little?" Sam repeated. Dean didn't respond, and after another second, Sam decided to let it go. Instead, Sam reached for- something, his claw- No, shit, his hand, Sam didn't have a freakin' claw, that was just the hellhounds messing with his brain. Dean sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, rubbing his eyes hard again. This time, it worked. He opened his eyes, and there was Sam, watching him with those giant, concerned eyes, a laptop in one hand.

"You got a new one?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, looking almost guilty as he glanced at it. "You were sleeping. Not exactly soundly, but you didn't look like you were going to be waking up anytime soon. And I needed a way to do research, and the store was just a couple streets away."

"Awesome," Dean said, and meant it. Apparently Sam thought that Dean was some baby who couldn't stand to be left on his own for a single hour, but that was bullshit. And anyway, he was in favor of anything that allowed Sam to figure this out easier. "What've you got?"

Sam hesitated, then admitted, "Not much." He frowned, glancing at the screen for a moment before turning back to Dean. "There isn't a whole lot of lore involving memory loss. I mean, a witch could do something like this, or then there's the goddess Lethe… I don't know, though. Nothing seems to fit."

"Well, isn't that just perfect," Dean grumbled, then reached for his phone on the bedside table, instinctively flipping it open to check for calls, even though he wasn't expecting any.

There were five missed messages, and all of them were from Dad.

"I've got them, too," Sam said, holding up his own phone.

Dean nodded. "You answer any of them?" Sam immediately shook his head, and Dean frowned. "Whatever this is, it's got to be important."

"And I figure that we've got enough on our plates without getting involved with whatever Dad's doing," Sam said firmly.

Dean's frown deepened. Okay, Sam was right, kinda. No matter what Dad was up to, they couldn't just drop all of this and run to help, could they? But if Dad had a lock on the demon-

Sam must've guessed the track that Dean's thoughts were going down, because he turned himself completely around in his seat so he could look straight at him, eyes narrowed. "You are not going to join Dad on a hunt right now," he said. "I don't care what he's doing – there's no way that I'm letting you go hunt something when you can't tell what's real and what's a hallucination."

"I can tell," Dean snapped, but he had to admit that Sam had a point. He stared at the phone for another moment, then said, "I should at least check to see what he wants."

"And are you going to be able to say no when he asks you for help?" Sam challenged. When Dean didn't respond, Sam pushed himself up off the couch and crossed over to Dean, then ripped the phone out of his hands.

"Hey," Dean protested, making a move to grab it back, but Sam was already shoving the phone into his jacket pocket. "Bitch."

"Trust me, it'll be easier like this," Sam said. Then his face darkened, and he added, "Besides, Dad was the one who said that we wouldn't be able to come back. He doesn't just get to turn around and take it back when he wants something."

Dean stiffened, and instinctively opened his mouth, ready to snap at Sam about having some respect, this was Dad they were talking about. But Sam had already turned away, obviously not interested in hearing any more, already shoving his new laptop into a carrying case and throwing it over his shoulder, not even looking back at Dean. It was clear that as far as Sam was concerned, this conversation was over.

Dean closed his mouth, and swallowed, then pushed himself to his feet. "Come on," he said gruffly, grabbing the wall and carefully limping his way toward the door. "Let's just get back to the hospital."


	28. Part 2 Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

They got back to the hospital a little after one o'clock.

It was easier to reach Cas' room now that it was actually visiting hours, and they didn't have to sneak around. Instead, they could walk right into the room without having to worry about anyone seeing them. This time, Dean didn't even hesitate outside the door, though he did brace himself for having to talk to the wife again.

He didn't need to worry about that. When he opened the door, Amelia and her daughter were nowhere to be seen.

The room also looked like it was crawling with monsters.

Dean stiffened. "Sam," he said, voice tight.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, and he sounded worried, but not like he was freaking out, the way that he would've if the room was filled with things that were waiting to rip their heads off. It was more like the normal, what's-wrong-with-Dean-this-time worry that he'd been using all the time the past few days.

Not real, then. Just hallucinations.

"Nothing," Dean said stiffly, then stepped into the room, trying not to shudder as he moved closer to the things that were writhing on the walls. They might not actually be real, but that didn't make them any less convincing.

He dropped into the chair nearest Cas, reaching forward to grab his hand again, since the wife wasn't around to make him feel like he couldn't. Then he squeezed his eyes closed, and opened them slowly.

And... It worked, actually. First try, too. That was unexpected.

Of course, it probably wasn't going to last, and the hallucinations were going to hit him again as soon as he blinked, or something like that. But whatever. He'd enjoy it while he could.

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean expected yet another question about how he was. Instead, Sam asked, "Want me to give you some time alone?"

Again, unexpected, and Dean wasn't entirely sure what to say. Actually, he should probably say yes, since who knew when the wife would be back, and whether they'd get this chance again? Better take advantage of it while he could.

Instead, he shrugged. "Nah," he said, forced-casual. "You can stick around if you want."

Sam looked over at Dean for a moment, long enough that Dean started to squirm, then nodded once. "Okay," he said, and grabbed a chair from the side of the room, yanking it forward so that it was right next to Dean's.

They were quiet for a minute. Dean carefully studied Cas' face, his body, every part of him that he could see. He was lying in a different position than he had been that morning, like he wasn't propped quite as high on the pillows as he had been before, and that was enough to make Dean feel stupidly hopeful for a split second. But didn't you move people around when they were unconscious and not waking up? To keep them from lying in the same position for too long? Or, Amelia had mentioned something about taking him for more tests. That could be what had happened.

Odds were, Cas still hadn't woken up yet.

Dean swallowed, and tried not to let the disappointment get to him. It hadn't been long. He'd wake up, or else Sam would find some lead for them to track down, and find a way to fix whatever had been done to him.

"You know, I talked to you all the time when you were the one in a coma," Sam suddenly said, abruptly enough that it made Dean turn and frown at him.

"Thanks for sharing," Dean said after a moment. "That story got a point?"

Sam shrugged and spread his hands – which, in Sammy speak, that meant that he did have a point, but that he knew that it was one that Dean wouldn't want him to make. "I'm just saying, it's not weird or anything. If you want to talk to him, I mean."

Dean scowled and turned away. "Thanks," he said, "but I'm fine. I think that you've been watching too many soap operas if you think that I'm going to do some mushy, emotional bedside confession shit."

"Dean, you're the only one who likes those shows," Sam said. "And I'm not saying that you need to do anything like that. I'm just talking about… talking to him. Say whatever you want."

"No thanks," Dean said simply, and leaned back in his chair, still keeping his hold on Cas' hand. "What we should be talking about is where we're going to go from here."

Sam nodded, and patted the side of his laptop bag. "I want to find somewhere to go sit, to see if I can find any more info on what could cause this type of memory loss," he said, then quickly added, "Doesn't have to be done right now, though, I can stick around the room for a bit longer. Then after that, I guess our best bet is to find out whatever we can about his disappearance, and how he'd ended up on the side of the road. I can call Ash and see if I can get him looking, too."

Dean thought it over, then nodded. "Okay," he said. "Okay, sounds good." It didn't, really. Or, specifically, it didn't sound like even close to being enough. But it also sounded like it was the best that they could do, so no point in pointing that out. "You want to go get to work now?"

"I can-" Sam began, but Dean cut him off.

"Dude, I'm not completely breakable," he snapped. "You can head down the hall to do research, I'm not going to freak."

Sam nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, and stood. He hesitated another moment, then pulled Dean's cell phone from his pocket and handed it back to him. "In case you need to find me."

Dean nodded, glancing down at him. He'd gotten another call since the last time he'd checked.

He took a deep breath, then shoved the phone deep into his own pocket. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

"I'll let you know if I find anything," Sam promised, then grabbed his bag and left.

Then Dean and Cas were alone in the room.

Dean tightened his fingers around Cas' hand, which was completely limp in his grip. "Hey, Cas," Dean said after a moment, then hesitated but made himself add, "Or Jimmy. You know, whichever you're gonna want to be called once you wake up." He paused, and couldn't think of anything else to add, except, "Just, make sure you do wake up, okay?"

Jesus Christ, this was turning into a soap opera moment.

"You'll be fine," Dean said stiffly, with more confidence than he felt, and then he decided that it was time for him to just shut up now, before this turned into something really pathetic. Instead, he just slumped lower in the seat, keeping his eyes locked on Cas, and not looking away for a moment.

"You'll be fine, buddy," Dean repeated in a lower voice. "Just wait and see."

* * *

><p>He'd been sitting like that for maybe fifteen minutes when he heard footsteps approaching the room, and then the door started to open.<p>

Dean sat up quickly, reluctantly letting go of Cas' hand. He felt strangely like a little kid stuck with his hand in the cookie jar. Which was stupid, because Cas wouldn't complain about Dean holding his hand. Hell, Cas would've frickin' been happy if he had woken up then, and Dean had been hanging onto him, instead of some woman that he wouldn't even be able to remember.

And now he really was acting like a petty little bitch, goddamn it. He was just glad that nobody else could read his thoughts.

"Oh, you're back," Amelia said, looking a little surprised, but not like she was going to kick him out again, at least.

Dean just nodded once, and decided not to ask whether this was okay or not. Mainly because it really didn't matter if he was going to be allowed to stay here or not, because he wasn't going to let her make him leave. Instead, he just asked, "Where were you two?"

"Cafeteria," Amelia said, and Claire made a face, clearly showing what she thought of that place. Amelia glanced at her daughter, then nodded in agreement. "Honestly, it's not very good. We'll probably try to get something delivered for dinner."

Dean debated for a moment, then said, "I'll probably send Sam to get us dinner. I can have him grab something for you two, if you want." Not because he wanted to be chummy with the wife, but Sam was already going, so he might as well offer. And if Cas cared about these people – and he kinda had to – then Dean would play nice.

Didn't mean that he had to like them.

"Thanks you," Amelia said, sounding vaguely surprised, but also grateful. "That'd be wonderful, thank you."

Dean just shrugged and didn't respond.

Amelia and Claire both circled around the bed again, taking their seats in the same places that they had sat earlier. Amelia pretty much assumed her exact same position, sitting stiffly in her seat, reaching forward to hold Cas' hand. Claire pulled one of those handheld video game things out of her bag and curled up in the chair, her knees practically under her chin in a way that looked like it had to be uncomfortable, holding the game up in front of her so she could play.

And for some reason, Dean was having a hard time looking away, because he'd noticed something. Claire looked so much like her mom, it was easy to see the resemblance the moment that they walked into a room. But now, he realized that she had the exact same eye color as Cas. And there were other things, too, like her face shape. It wasn't obvious, but still, he could tell. Not that he hadn't believed it before, but-

He scowled and quickly looked away, though he couldn't think of anywhere else to look that would be any better.

"Are you okay?" Amelia asked, making Dean look over at her. She was frowning in his direction, and added, "If I can be honest? You don't look so good."

"So I've been told," Dean grumbled, and immediately shook his head. "I'm good." Though honestly, he would've been a lot better if she hadn't been asking him questions and actually looking like she was concerned, because that was making it a lot harder to be pissed and jealous about her being married to Cas. Just, holy shit, he was the guy who'd been dating her husband during the past couple months while she had probably thought that Cas was dead. Admittedly, she didn't know about the dating part, but still, she wasn't supposed to be nice to him.

She nodded slowly, then bit her lip for a second before asking, "Would you mind telling me more about what you and Jimmy have been doing the past couple months, then?" She didn't sound accusatory – not the crazy you-stole-my-husband rage that Dean would probably deserve – but she definitely sounded upset. Not that he could blame her.

Dean swallowed, and tried to come up with something to tell her. "Just... driving around, picking up whatever odd jobs we can find along the way, hustling pool to make up the rest. Crappy motel rooms, greasy diners, that sort of thing. Really isn't anything special."

"That's..." Amelia began, but then her voice trailed off, like she didn't have a clue how she was supposed to respond.

Dean shrugged. "It's a life," he said.

She was silent for a long time, long enough that Dean started to hope that the conversation would be dropped. Of course he wouldn't get that lucky.

"And, do you know why he did it?" Amelia asked slowly. "Why he was driving around with you instead of coming back to us."

Well, shit.

Dean had said that he was going to tell her that afternoon, let her know everything, right? But come on, it's not like anyone was going to hold him to that, right?

"Dean?" Amelia prompted after a moment.

Shit.

"No," Dean said, and had to swallow against the guilt that was rising in his throat. "No, I don't have a clue why he wouldn't go back to you. He never even mentioned the two of you to me." Well, the last part was true, at least.

Amelia nodded, and for a minute, she didn't say anything else. Then she sighed, lowering her head, using her free hand to push her hair out of her eyes. "Sorry," she said after a moment. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to say right now. Part of me wants to demand to know everything that's happened to him these past two months. But honestly? There's a part of me that doesn't even want to think of that right now."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I know what you mean." Although, he was pretty sure that a lot of Cas' backstory was going to involve him falling in love with someone else and marrying her, and there was no way that Dean wanted to hear the details of how that had come about. Granted, Amelia was going to have the same problem if she ever found out the truth about what Cas had been up to. But she didn't know that.

"You should stick around," Amelia suddenly said, making Dean frown at her. She hadn't seemed all that eager to have them around earlier that day. Not that he could exactly blame her, but still. The change of heart was weird.

She must've caught onto his confusion, because she clarified, "The police are coming by this afternoon to ask some follow-up questions about Jimmy. They're going to need to talk to you and your brother, too, since you're the ones who know where he's been all this time."

"Oh," Dean said, and nodded. "Right." Meaning that he and Sam were going to have to find a way to slip out before then, since there was no way that they'd be able to pass as FBI agents after the police had already interviewed them on the case. "Any idea when they're coming?"

She shrugged. "They said they'd send officers when they had time. I didn't really ask. I mean, it's not like I'm going anywhere."

Okay, so, no definite time. Meaning that Dean should probably slip out soon, to make absolutely certain that he wasn't seen.

Then he glanced over at Cas, and his hands clenched.

Odds were that they wouldn't be here for a while. Dean had time. He could stay here for a little longer.

And anyway, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if the police accidentally saw him. Sam could always head over to the station by himself if they needed him to.

"So," Amelia said slowly, like she was testing her words as she spoke. "How exactly did you meet Jimmy, then?"

Dean took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. He was not in the mood to have to make up a bullshit story right then. Mostly, he'd rather not have to talk to the wife at all, maybe just sit here in silence. But he guessed that it'd been good practice in case he did end up needing to talk to the police. He didn't want to bother coming up with some elaborate lie, so he just said, "A park in Montana. My brother got himself hurt, so Ca- Jimmy offered to help me get him to the car so he could be taken to get patched up. 'Cause, you know, Sam's kinda way to big for him to just be leaning on me."

Amelia nodded, a small frown on her face, and Dean swore that he saw her glance at his leg. Dean could imagine why – Dean was limping, Cas was frickin' unconscious, and now apparently Sam had been hurt the first time the three of them had met. He could imagine that that'd be enough to get her suspicious, or to at least make her wonder about why they apparently got injured so much.

And those questions were definitely not the ones that he wanted to answer, so Dean quickly added, "Sam and I were going to do something for him, to thank him and all that. He didn't look like he had a place to work or anywhere to go, so I offered to drive him to this bar my friend owns, get him a job there. He said sure, but it took a while before we could get down there. Then, I don't know, he just ended up staying."

There. That part was actually the truth. Made him feel at least a little better about all the shit he wasn't saying.

"So he was just traveling around?" Amelia asked. "I mean, was there anything else that he was trying to do? Any reason why he left?"

Besides killing Azazel and figuring out why his memories were missing? "Nope," Dean said. "Sorry."

Amelia took a deep breath. "It's okay," she said. "I just-" Then she broke off, glancing over at Claire. Whatever she had been about to say, she apparently decided that she didn't want the kid to overhear it, because she just shook her head and repeated, "It's okay. I'm sure Jimmy will be able to explain it as soon as he wakes up."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. Or, more like, Cas would have to find some way to explain it, whether he wanted to or not. And Dean should probably be trying to help him out while he could, to come up with some story that he could find a way to whisper to Cas, give him something to just repeat. Dean didn't know what kind of story that would be. This was Cas' family – Dean still couldn't even think it without cringing, but it was true. So Dean figured that Cas was the one who had to make the call there, about whether to lie to them and what to say. Dean didn't want to interfere.

He told himself that that was why he didn't say anything about the weird memory loss. It was almost convincing enough to make him stop feeling like shit.

"Can I talk to you?" Amelia suddenly asked.

Dean frowned, but nodded. "Sure."

She nodded back, and stood. Claire immediately sat upright, looking like she wanted to jump to her feet and follow after, but Amelia placed her hand on the kid's shoulder, stopping her from moving. "Can you stay with Daddy for a bit?" Amelia asked, smiling at her daughter. And Dean was pretty sure that the smile had to be completely faked, but it looked genuine enough that Claire seemed comforted, at least. "Maybe show him how much better you've started reading in the past couple months?"

"Okay," Claire said, and immediately tossed aside her video game to start digging through her bag, pulling out a book that was slightly thicker than the one she'd been looking at that morning. She opened it up to the first page and started reading out loud, stumbling a bit over a few of the words, and Dean pushed himself to his feet to follow Amelia out the door.

They didn't go far, just down the hall a little, far enough that Claire wouldn't be able to overhear. Then Amelia stopped walking and turned to face Dean, her shoulders hunched forward, suddenly looking about twice as tired as she had only a minute ago. "I'm trying not to worry Claire about this," she said after a moment. "She's smart, very advanced for her age, but she's still only seven years old. She shouldn't have to deal with any of this."

"Okay," Dean said slowly. Because he agreed – hell, he had tried to do the same thing with Sammy, protect him from all the shitty stuff in the world until he was way older than seven – but he wasn't sure exactly what she was getting at here.

And she seemed to get that he didn't understand, because she said, "I guess what I'm trying to say is... If there's anything that you're not telling us about Jimmy, anything that you've been holding back, then thank you for not saying it in front of Claire at least. But if you can tell me anything about why my husband disappeared, even if it's not much, then I want to hear about it."

Dean took a deep breath, and honestly, even as he opened his mouth he wasn't sure what he was going to say.

Amelia was staring hard at him, her eyes not leaving his face, waiting for an answer.

Another deep breath, then Dean let it out slowly and said, "No, nothing."

For Cas' sake, he reminded himself. Let Cas be the one who decided what he wanted to tell these people. Dean wasn't going to interfere with that, or make the decision for him. All of this had to be completely up to Cas.

The cool thing was, if he repeated that often enough, he could almost make himself believe it.

She nodded, not looking surprised. More like resigned. "Okay, thank you," she said, and opened her mouth to say something else, then abruptly closed it and shook her head. "I was going to ask you for more about what Jimmy was doing while he was gone, but you know what, I'm way too tired for this. The police will cover it." She turned like she was going to return to the room, but then she stopped, looking back at him. "You should give me your cell phone number," she said. "I can call you when Jimmy wakes up, if you're not here for it."

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it, and wasn't sure what he was supposed to do in response to that. "Thanks," he finally grunted.

She just shook her head slightly. "It's okay," she said, then took a breath before adding, "I don't know what happened with Jimmy, or even what's happening now. But I can tell that you and your brother care about him. So, well, I think that you deserve to know."

"Thanks," Dean repeated, since he couldn't think of anything else to say. She just pulled out her phone and looked at him expectantly. Dean thought back, trying to remember which phone it was that he had in his pocket. He was pretty sure that it was his third cell phone, the one that people didn't know about so much. That was the one designed so that John and Sam could get in touch with him, the one that he carried with him everywhere. He had two more cells, numbers that he could give out on his business cards, or the numbers that people could call when they had a case for him to take, but last he'd known, those had been shoved into the glove compartment of the Impala, and he couldn't even remember the last time that he'd touched either of them.

So he rambled off the number of the one he had with him – no way did he want to risk missing this call – and she nodded, tucking her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. "Are you coming back to the room?" she asked, gesturing behind her. "You could wait for the police with us."

Dean nodded, then stopped and shook his head instead. "I, uh, I think I'm going to go grab something to eat first," he said. "I'll be back later."

She nodded, and turned and walked back to the room. Dean waited until she was back in the room, then turned and leaned back against the wall, eyes closed.

This was definitely not how it was supposed to work. According to every frickin' soap opera he would never admit to watching, he was pretty sure that he and Amelia were supposed to hate each other, just like the wife and the secret lover always did. And okay, maybe it was lame, trying to use apply those stupid drama shows to actual real life, but really, Dean was pretty sure that you weren't supposed to like your boyfriend's wife. And honestly, like was still way too strong a word for it. Because he definitely didn't like Amelia.

But she was nice. And he felt sorry for her, goddamn it, and that was not something that he had expected going into this, and it left him feeling completely off guard, like he didn't have the slightest idea where to go from here.

Well, he did have one idea, at least.

He fumbled for his phone, punching in the number from memory. It only rang once before Sam answered. "Everything okay?" he asked immediately.

"Yeah, yeah, it's cool," Dean said. "You find anything?"

"Nothing yet on what could have caused the memory loss," Sam said. "And Bobby's still got nothing on Azazel, either."

Well, that was shitty, but honestly, it was also the last thing that Dean could think about right then. "We'll worry about that later, when it's time to start hunting the bastard again," Dean said. "For now, come on, let's head down to the police station and see what we can find out about Cas."

"You sure?" Sam asked. "We can wait a little longer, if you want. Or I could go on my own-"

"Of course I'm sure," Dean snapped, then took a deep breath to calm himself down before adding, "We don't have time to wait around on this, okay? We need to figure out what's going on as soon as possible."

Sam was silent for a long minute, then asked, "Dean? Did anything happen."

"'Course not," Dean said. "I just want to find a way to save Cas now, before anything bad happens." And if he also wanted to avoid going back to the room – at least while Amelia was still in it – well, that was completely incidental, and there was no point in bringing it up right now.

"Right," Sam said, and based on the suspicion in his voice, it was obvious that he didn't believe Dean. At least he didn't press the issue. Instead, he just said, "Okay, I'll meet you back at the Impala."

"Sounds good," Dean said, and hung up before Sam got the chance to say another word.

* * *

><p>"So, the FBI is already on the case, huh?" the officer asked. "Not surprising, considering that he went missing all those months ago."<p>

Sam just nodded and gave the officer a smile, which was obviously faked, but it seemed to work well enough to fool her, because she just smiled back as she slid Sam the case file. "Here you go," she said. "I made a copy for you."

"Thank you," Sam said, handing the file over to Dean. Dean flipped it over and glanced down, just long enough to page through the first couple pages, then shut it again. They'd have to go through it in more detail later. He didn't know if it was going to hold any info that they didn't already know from Amelia, but he could hope. At the very least, it'd name all of the different witnesses, so they'd know who to go question next.

"Anything else I can help you with?" the officer asked, giving them another giant smile that showed off all of her teeth. She seemed almost too young to be working as a police officer, and definitely eager to please, or to prove that she was doing her job correctly.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, then Dean turned back to her, nodding. "Yeah, you can, actually," he said. "Can you show us to the evidence locker?"

She nodded at once, then stopped and frowned. Dean ignored that, just as he ignored the way that Sam was giving him the exact same look. "Why do you need to see it?" she asked.

"The victim had items on him that could be crucial for the investigation," Dean said smoothly, not even tripping over the fact that he had to refer to Cas as the "victim". "We'd like to take a look at them, if you'll lead the way?"

She frowned for another moment, then nodded, and turned and walked off down the hallway. Dean followed behind, doing his best to keep his limp from being too obvious. Which wasn't exactly easy, since his leg was completely killing him, but the last thing he needed was to deal with questions about why he was at work with a bunch of half-healed bite marks in his leg.

"Here you go," the officer said, stopping outside a thick door. Dean flashed her a smile. It was stiff, and not nearly as nice as what he could have usually managed, but it seemed to do the trick, at least. She held out the sign in sheet beside the door, and Dean grabbed it and scribbled down some illegible name, since he couldn't actually remember what badge he had grabbed before coming here.

Sam did the same, then hung the sheet up, saying, "Thank you, but that should be good. We'll find you if we need any more help."

Dean didn't take the time to bother with glancing at her again. Instead, he yanked open the door and hurried inside, with Sam pulling it firmly closed behind them.

"Okay, I give it a few minutes before someone comes here to check on us," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Work fast," he said, and immediately turned to start going through the evidence.

It only took them a minute to find something. "Got it," Sam said, holding up the plastic bag that was marked with NOVAK, JAMES in large letters across the front. He tossed it over to Dean, then asked, "So, what exactly did you want with it?"

"Well, it's Cas' stuff, right?" Dean said. "I figured I'd get it back for him." Then he looked up, meeting Sam's eyes and raising his eyebrows. "What, you scared of stealing from a police station?"

"Of course not," Sam said, like the idea was ridiculous – which, well, for them it was. "But you do realize that if we steal from the evidence locker, there's no way that we'll be able to come back here and pretend to be agents again?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well," he said, and ripped open the seal on the bag without another word. "I guess that's just the price we pay," he added after a moment.

The first bag contained the shirt that Cas had been wearing on the day that he'd gone missing. Dean pulled it out of the bag, holding it up in front of him so he could look it over. And it looked completely fine. No tears or bloodstains, absolutely nothing wrong with it except for some dirt stains along the front, probably from when he'd been lying on the side of the road.

"That's gotta be a good sign, right?" Dean asked, looking over at Sam. "That the clothes are in good shape like this. That's gotta mean that nothing too bad happened to him?"

"I hope so," Sam said, which wasn't as reassuring as Dean would have wanted, but at least it was still positive. So Dean nodded and just stuffed the shirt back into the bag. Cas had a couple button downs in the back of the Impala. He wasn't going to miss this one.

Dean stuck the bag back onto the shelf, then reached for the next package. This one contained his shoes. Which Cas was definitely going to need – he only had the one pair – but Dean couldn't think of a good way to sneak them out. Just buying the guy a new pair would definitely be easier. Dean shoved them back into the bag and set it next to the shirt.

"Dean," Sam suddenly said, and Dean turned toward him, just in time to see Sam pull his leather jacket out of the bag. Sam looked at it for a moment, then held it out to Dean. "Here."

"Thanks," Dean said as he reached out and took it, turning it over in his hands. Just like the shirt, Dean couldn't find any signs of damage anywhere on it. Yeah, that definitely had to be a good sign.

It was going to be difficult to sneak a whole coat out of the evidence locker, but there was no way that Dean was going to leave it behind. If he were being honest, then he'd say that the jacket was half of the reason why he wanted to come get Cas' stuff in the first place. So he carefully folded it up and stuck it under his arm, hidden by his suit coat, carefully arranged so that the bulge wouldn't be noticeable. "Okay," he said. "What else is there?"

Not a whole lot, as it turned out. Cas' wallet and his hex bag were slipped into Sam's pockets, and other than that, there didn't seem to be anything important. They didn't need his pants or his underwear, or the crumpled-up piece of paper where Dean had written out an exorcism for him to keep, just in case.

Then, though, Sam frowned. "Any idea what this is?" he asked, holding out the final envelope. Dean shrugged, and Sam ripped it open, pulling out the cardboard box that was inside. Sam looked at Dean and raised his eyebrows, but Dean didn't have a clue what could be – in their experience, cardboard boxes were usually used with weapons and things like that, stuff that could break through the paper bags they were kept in if it wasn't secured first.

"Maybe the iron knife we gave him?" Dean suggested. He hadn't gotten the chance to see what had happened to it, if Cas had dropped it back at the motel or if he had taken it with him when he'd been taken. It'd make sense that he'd still have it on him when he was left on the road.

Sam nodded, and opened the box. Dean wasn't paying attention to him anymore. Instead, he headed over toward the door and glanced at his watch, trying to calculate how much more time he and Sam would have before an officer came looking for them, and how long after that they would have before people realized that the evidence was gone and came looking for the two of them. He didn't think it would be very long. Meaning that they were going to have to get out of here fast.

"Dean," Sam suddenly said from behind him. "Have you ever seen this before?"

Dean frowned, turning back around and walking over to his brother. "What?"

Sam didn't answer, just wordlessly held the cardboard box out for Dean to take. Dean's frown deepened and he lifted the lid to glance inside.

"No," he said after a minute. "No, I've never seen this before." He squinted at it for a moment, then said, "Shit, I don't even know what that thing's made of."

Inside the box was a long, thin blade, but like he'd said, it didn't look like anything that he recognized. It was a shining silvery color, except it didn't look like pure silver – it was too bright for that. Even if you polished silver or metal as well as you could, there was no way that you could get it to shine like that, like it had a light coming from inside it.

"Where do you think Cas got his hands on something like that?" Sam asked.

Dean didn't have an answer. "Stole it off his kidnappers?"

"Yeah, maybe," Sam agreed, though he was still frowning.

Well, whatever it was, Dean sure knew that he wasn't going to leave it here. He pulled it out of the box, then grabbed a plastic bag to wrap around the blade before he tucked it into his inside jacket pocket. It wasn't exactly the same as a sheath, and probably wouldn't do a whole lot of good. But still, it seemed like it'd have to at least be a little safer than carrying a blade right against his chest, especially when he didn't have a clue where it had come from or what it could do.

"Okay, we've got everything?" Dean asked, and when Sam nodded, Dean turned, leading the way out of the police station.

They didn't have any trouble getting out. Sam and Dean both made a point of smiling at the officer as they walked past, earning themselves a smile in return, and made it easy for them to slip past without her noticing the way that Dean had to walk with his arm stiff against his side in order to keep the leather jacket in place.

The moment they were out in the Impala again, Dean relaxed slightly, and pulled out his leather jacket. "Okay, that went pretty well," he said, tugging off the stupid fancy jacket he was wearing and pulling on the leather one, then transferring all of his stuff out of the pockets of his suit coat so that he could toss it randomly into the back seat. Ordinarily, he'd take the time to make sure that it got hung up nicely and zipped into his garment bag to keep it from getting messed up, but today, he couldn't be bothered.

"So, we head back to the hospital?" Dean asked, glancing over at Sam for confirmation. Not that he wanted to go back and sit with Amelia again, but then, he was getting antsy, already dying to get back and make sure that nothing had changed with Cas. It had only been about an hour since they'd left, so it wasn't like Dena should really expect anything to have happened, but still. He had to make sure, even if it meant spending time with the wife again.

Sam just raised his eyebrows. "Go sit in Cas' hospital room, waiting for the police to show up to ask us questions when we happen to look exactly like the FBI agents who had stolen evidence about this case not that long ago? Especially since as soon as they see the missing evidence, they're going to do an investigation and figure out that we're not actually agents?"

Okay, Dean had to admit that was a fair point, even if he wasn't exactly happy about it. "Fine, then," he grumbled, turning away. "What did you plan on doing, then?"

Dean never got his answer, because right then, his phone rang.

"Dad again?" Sam asked, in a voice that made it clear that he expected to be right.

Dean frowned and shook his head. "Or, I don't know," he amended. "It's not a number I recognize." Which meant that it easily could be Dad, trying a new tactic to reach them.

Either way, Dean decided to answer. Partly because he wanted to make sure it wasn't important, and partly because if it was Dad- Well, Sam obviously didn't feel bad about not answering, but Dean sure as hell did. And he was doing a pretty good job of burying that, shoving it down since he didn't have time to deal with the guilt over not being the good son anymore. But if Dad wanted to reach him this badly, then, well, Dean had to pick up, didn't he?

"Hello?" he answered.

"Dean," a distinctly feminine, not-Dad voice said from the other end, and after a second, Dean recognized it as Amelia.

Instantly, he stiffened. "What happened?" he demanded. Because it was hard to tell from just one word, but he was pretty sure that her voice was shaking. That usually didn't mean anything good. If something had happened to Cas-

Dean wasn't going to finish that sentence, not even in his head.

"He woke up," Amelia whispered.

Dean froze. And out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam looking at him, gesturing for him to say something, to explain what was going on. Dean couldn't, though. Out of all of the things that he'd expected when he'd first heard Amelia's voice, this hadn't even crossed his mind. It seemed way too good. Good stuff like this didn't happen to them.

"He's awake?" Dean repeated, because he still wasn't quite able to believe it. "Is he okay? What exactly happened?"

"He woke up about twenty minutes ago," Amelia said, "and he's okay. Really confused – I don't think he realized what was happening at first – but okay." And yeah, her voice was definitely shaking. That had to be because she was so happy, right? Or she was one of those people who waited to freak out until after the problem was over, because this was a good thing, and Dean didn't know how she could sound so panicked.

"Okay, I'll be up there as soon as I can be," Dean said, not giving her any room for debate. Because yeah, she probably wanted some family bonding time or something like that, but honestly, Dean really didn't care. Cas was awake, and there was absolutely no way that he was going to let anything get in the way of seeing him, screw the police and Amelia and anything that tried to stop him.

"There's something else, though," Amelia said, and just like that, Dean's excitement dropped away.

Something else. Of course there was. Since when did they ever get to have something happy happen without something else screwing it up?

"What?" Dean asked, his voice tight, already mentally running down the list of what could be wrong. Cas had lost his memories of the past couple months, on top of the ones that were already gone. Cas was still injured somehow. Cas had only woken for a couple minutes and had already fallen unconscious again. There were way too many possibilities, and if Amelia didn't stop leaving him in suspense and actually tell him what was going on, then Dean was going to snap.

Finally, after way too many seconds of waiting, Amelia finally did.

"He's gone," she said, her voice low, and Dean could definitely hear the shaking even more now. "Jimmy disappeared again."

* * *

><p>It took ten minutes to get back to the hospital, and Dean was swearing the entire way, cussing about Sam's shitty driving and the fact that they definitely could have cut at least two minutes off the drive if Dean had been the one behind the wheel. Sam just rolled his eyes and didn't respond, but Dean could see that he was freaked out, too – enough so that Dean almost felt bad for taking it out on him. Almost.<p>

They'd been hoping that they could beat the police back to the hospital, but they were disappointed, because when they got there, Amelia was already speaking to an officer. It was a different officer than the one that they'd talked to at the police station, so that was one lucky thing, at least. With any luck, this guy wouldn't even know that the evidence had been stolen yet. And with even more luck, he wouldn't realize that Dean was wearing a jacket that he had stolen from the evidence locker less than twenty minutes ago.

Sam and Dean hung back, waiting for the officer to finish speaking to Amelia. Then the man turned and walked over to the nurse's station, presumably to question someone else, and Dean rushed forward, with Sam following just a step behind. "What exactly happened?" he demanded, as soon as he was close enough.

Amelia turned toward them, and looked surprised by the change of clothes, with Sam in his suit and Dean wearing a nice button down and dress pants instead of the polo and jeans he'd thrown on yesterday, before they'd driven down here. She didn't comment on it, though. Instead, she just took a deep breath. "He woke up, just like I told you. Then we left him alone for three minutes – it really couldn't be more than that. He said something about needing a minute alone, to think, so I took Claire down to the waiting room down the hall. I- If something went wrong, or if our conversation didn't go well, then I didn't want her there to see it. And when I came back, his room was empty."

"So, you think he just walked out?" Sam asked.

Amelia shook her head, then nodded, then shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know what else could have happened, but the nurse's station is right outside his room, and the nurse on duty said that she'd keep an eye on him. Not to mention that there's only one hallway leading out of the ward, he would've had to walk right past me." She looked like she wanted to say something else, but in the end, she just broke off and shrugged, crossing her arms tight across her chest like she was hugging herself.

And despite how terrified Dean was, he couldn't help but smirk slightly. Damn, Cas was good.

Unless he hadn't actually sneaked out on his own, and the demons had found him again somehow. Then that would explain how he could have just vanished from a guarded room, the same way that he'd disappeared from right in front of Dean's eyes during the hellhound attack.

The smirk fell from Dean's face. Suddenly, he didn't feel so proud anymore.

"What can you tell us about how Jimmy was acting right after he woke up?" Sam asked, sounding like he was instinctively falling into agent mode. That was more than fine with Dean. If he wanted to be the one to handle the questioning, then more power to him. Right then, Dean was too busy trying not to imagine the demons getting their hands on Cas again.

Another shrug from Amelia. "He was confused," she said. After a long pause, she added, "He said that he wasn't my husband."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Well, that answered the question of whether Cas had gotten his memories back, then.

"What else?" Sam asked. "Can you be more specific?"

Amelia frowned. "Why-?"

"Please," Sam cut in. "We're really worried about him. We want to know anything that we can."

She still looked suspicious, but she nodded slowly. "He woke up out of nowhere. Like, he was unconscious one moment, and then I looked over and he was sitting up, gasping for breath. So I ran over to him- I don't think that he recognized me at first. He kept touching his eyes, or reaching around to feel his back." She paused, then looked up to meet Dean's eyes. "He said your name. That was the first thing he said. Not my name, or Claire's. Yours." Her mouth twitched a little, like she was trying to hold back a scowl, and Dean could hear something in her voice that was almost accusatory. And Dean felt a rush of guilt at that, but he also couldn't help it – part of him was happy that he was the first person that Cas thought of.

"What else?" he said, instead of saying anything more on that subject. The last thing they needed was for Amelia to get pissed and not want to tell them anything.

She took a deep breath, and continued, "He wanted to know if you and your brother were okay. I said that you were fine, you'd been here visiting him. I think that that's when he realized that he was in a hospital. And I kept talking to him, trying to get him to tell me how he was. And he turned, and he kept staring straight at me, but it was like his face was completely blank, like he didn't recognize me at all." Dean grimaced. Okay, that was rough. He was definitely feeling sorry for her now.

"Did he say anything to you?" Sam asked. "After this point, I mean?"

"Not right then," Amelia said. "It was more like- He just kept staring at me, and looking more and more panicked. And I could tell something was wrong, so I started talking, trying to remind him who I was- who Claire and I were. And he just looked at me and shook his head, and said that no, he wasn't my husband." She broke off for a moment, shaking her head, and this time it looked like she was definitely blinking back tears. "Like I said, I didn't want Claire around for this. So I took her to the waiting room to play – there's another nurses' station right by it, so I figured she'd be fine. And I came back, and he was gone."

Dean and Sam exchanged another look. Okay, so, as far as Dean could tell, it had definitely been Cas who had woken up, not Jimmy Novak. Even though they were the same, Dean couldn't help but think of them as separate people, somehow. Which meant that Cas was out there somewhere, missing again. Dean's hands balled into fists, and he honestly would have started throwing punches at the wall if he thought that he could get away with it without getting thrown out of the hospital. But seriously, what was going on? And when the fuck was it going to end? Were they going to wait a couple more days and then find another report of Cas waking up on the street somewhere else, get caught in some stupid cycle of Cas disappearing and then turning up unconscious? Jesus fuck.

"Thank you so much, Amelia," Sam said, in that genuine voice that always won people over and made them leave the interview feeling all special inside. Then he and Dean turned away, heading toward Cas' room. They had to go check the room for sulfur, and then probably go beat themselves up over the fact that they hadn't thought to demon proof the room before something like this had happened. At least, that was definitely Dean's plan.

They didn't make it more than a step before Amelia grabbed both of their arms, pulling them to a stop. "You know something about this, don't you?" she demanded.

Sam turned back, and shook his head. "No," he said, sounding like the exact right mixture of sad and regretful that Dean was pretty sure Amelia was going to buy it. "Believe me, I wish that we did, but I don't have a clue where he is." The last part was actually true, and Dean clenched his jaw, looking away.

"You know something, though," Amelia insisted, taking a step toward them. "Something that you haven't told me, or anyone else."

"No, there really isn't," Dean said flatly. He didn't think he could focus enough to make his voice as convincing as Sam's, but whatever. "I pretty much summed it up for you this morning. Nothing really left to say."

She just shook her head. "Come on, we both know that there has to be something else," she insisted. "I've told you everything that happened when Jimmy woke up. You could at least do the same for me." She paused, and when she realized that Dean wasn't about to budge, she added, "Please, I just want to know what's happening to my husband. If you could tell me anything."

"Well, I can't," Dean said roughly, and pulled away, taking off down the hall before she got the chance to stop him. Okay, forget about checking the room for sulfur. They could go back and do that later, hopefully when Amelia and the police weren't around, and he wasn't going to have to deal with them.

It only took Sam a minute to catch up to him, and to fall into step beside him, easily matching Dean's strides. "You know," he began slowly, and whatever it was he was about to say, it was already making him grimace. Even so, he continued, "Maybe we should tell her what's going on?"

"How?" Dean demanded. "You want us to just march over to her and talk about how Cas has been helping us to hunt a demon, and now he's probably ended up kidnapped by them. And, oh yeah, Cas is what we've been calling her husband, because he doesn't have any memories and thinks that Jimmy Novak is an alias. Anything else that we should add there, Sammy? Maybe just come right out and tell her all about the sex, so that we can get that bitch fight out of the way right now instead of saving it for later."

"Okay, maybe that wouldn't work," Sam admitted after a moment. "But we could at least tell her something, couldn't we?"

"You come up with something to say, then I'm all ears," Dean said, which made Sam frown, looking off into the distance like he really was trying to come up with some story that they could tell Amelia that would make her feel better without also convincing her that the two of them were completely delusional.

A minute passed without either of them saying anything, and then Dean's phone rang again. Just like that morning, Dean figured that it was going to be Dad, but he still decided to at least pull it out to check the caller ID. And just like that morning, it was an unknown number. He didn't think it was Amelia's number, though. The digits were completely different. Even so, he didn't exactly want to answer it.

"Watch," he said, shaking the phone at Sam. "This is going to be more bad news. God knows we haven't gotten enough of that lately." Even so, he sighed and flipped the phone open, then held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Dean," the voice said.

It was Cas.


	29. Part 2 Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

"Cas?" Dean said, his voice way quieter when he planned on, which would have made him feel like an idiot if he wasn't so damn relieved.

Instantly, Sam grabbed Dean's arm. "Is he okay?" Sam demanded.

Dean shook himself free, then glanced around. They were still in the hospital, meaning that the area was far from private, but there didn't look like there was anyone else around who could overhear, so Dean switched the phone over to speaker, then held it up so that he and Sam could both hear. "Cas, what happened? Where are you?"

"I am in a public library," Cas said, and Dean could hear in his voice that he was frowning, though he sounded more confused than anything else. "It seemed like a good a place to go as any, as the last library that I had visited had been extremely helpful. I snuck out of the hospital where I had been admitted, just as you taught me. Though, I have to say, it was far more difficult as a patient than it had been as a witness."

Dean could definitely hear a note of pride in Cas' voice, just a small one, and despite everything, it was enough to make him smile slightly. "Well, good for you, buddy," he said, then quickly added, "Where exactly is this library?"

This time, when Cas spoke, it was obvious that he was frowning. "It is fairly close to the hospital. I'm sorry, I do not know the city, or the library's name. Although, I could ask the librarian. She has been very kind so far, allowing me to use her phone to call you."

"It's okay," Dean said, since they already knew the town, and honestly, a name probably wouldn't help them much with finding the place. "just hang tight, we'll find you." Then he paused for a moment, and then added, "Just, what happened to you, man?"

"I am not entirely sure," Cas admitted, the words coming slow, like he was still trying to work it out even as he spoke. "I woke in a strange hospital room, and I am not entirely sure how I got there. They said that you and Sam had been to see me." Instantly, his voice turned urgent. "They were correct, weren't they? Sam is here, too? You are both alright?"

"I'm here, Cas," Sam said quickly.

Cas let out a long breath. "I am very relieved to hear that," he said.

"Are you alright?" Dean demanded. "You don't sound like you're doing so good." Cas was up and talking, at least, so that had to mean that he was doing better than he had been this morning. But still, the guy sounded completely exhausted. Dean hadn't even got to see him, but he could already tell that Cas must just barely be keeping on his feet, like he was going to collapse any moment.

"I am alright," Cas said firmly, then added, "Or, I am better than I could have expected. I am... not quite sure what's wrong with me, and if I'm being honest, that it fairly frightening." Cas sounded like it, too. Like he was way more freaked than he was letting on. "I will be okay, though. As I said, I am just glad that the hellhounds didn't harm you or Sam."

"We'll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?" Dean promised. He would've said five, but they didn't actually know what direction the library was in, so Dean figured he'd better give them a little extra time, so that Cas didn't panic if it took them longer than expected. But really, Cas couldn't have gotten far, not sounding the way that he did. It couldn't be that hard to track down where he was.

"Thank you, Dean, but no," Cas said immediately, making Dean frown. "There is something else that I need you to do first. Do you know where my belongings might be? I believe that they were taken from me when I was admitted to the hospital, and I have a weapon-"

"You talking about the silvery blade thing?" Dean asked, glancing around the hall again to make sure that nobody was around. There was a doctor walking past, and Dean went silent until she was far enough away, then added, "We got that already. Sam and I broke into the police station earlier."

"Wonderful," Cas said, honest relief in his voice. "Bring it with you, please. It will be our only means of defending ourselves if we are attacked again."

Dean frowned. "What exactly is this blade? Where'd you get it from?"

"It is not important at the moment," Cas said absently. "Just, please, come and find me as soon as you can."

"Okay, okay, we're on our way," Dean said, and started walking again, twice as fast as he had before, ignoring the pain as his leg started protesting against the speed.

"Cas," Sam suddenly said. "There are two people who have been here to see you-"

Dean turned and glared at him. Cas was already on the run, and it sounded like something was seriously wrong. Did Sam really have to bring up the wife and kid now? Sam just shrugged, though he didn't say anything more.

For a long minute, Cas didn't say anything. Dean and Sam reached the parking structure and shoved the doors open, practically racing over to the Impala. Then, just as Dean was slipping into the passenger seat, Cas spoke. "You mean Amelia and Claire Novak. I know of them. And no, they were not there to see me."

Dean had meant to stick with his plan of not making Cas talk about the wife and kid, not until they were back somewhere safe and he'd had a chance to rest up. Now, though, he couldn't help but say, "What? What do you mean?"

There was another long pause as Cas considered his answer. "It will be difficult to explain over the phone," he finally said. "And the librarian has already begun to give me strange glances. I believe that she finds my conversation suspicious. I would prefer not to say anything more until we are in a private location."

"Yeah, I bet she would," Dean said. Especially if Cas was still in his hospital gown or something. He could only imagine the kind of attention he was drawing. "But it's okay. Like I said, hang tight. We're on our way, just wait for us."

"I will," Cas said. "I believe that I must return the phone to the librarian now, but I will wait for you outside of the library."

"Sounds good," Dean said, and swallowed, trying to think of any last words to say before they hung up. Not that he really needed to say something special, considering that it was five minutes until they were going to get to see each other again. But still. He felt like he should, somehow.

Cas beat him to it, though.

"One last thing," he said. "Do not tell anyone about my location, and if anything approaches you while you are looking for me, take my blade and stab it through the chest."

Then he hung up.

Huh. Well, you couldn't say that the guy didn't know how to make an exit.

"I think I noticed a library while we were driving here from the motel," Sam said. "It should only take two minutes to get there."

"Awesome," Dean said, stuffing his phone back into his jacket, then taking a moment to run his fingertips over the handle of the blade he had hidden there. "Let's see if we can cut it down to one."

* * *

><p>It took three minutes to get there, by Dean's count. Not that that was that long, but he was still going crazy by the end of it.<p>

Cas was sitting on the front steps of the library, just as he had promised that he would be. He was wearing a pair of green hospital scrubs that he must have stolen from somewhere, but he still stood out, especially with his bare feet and wild hair.

But he was there, and awake, and alive. And honest, Dean hadn't realized it until right then, but even when he'd been talking to Cas on the phone, part of him had felt like this wasn't going to last, like Cas would vanish again before they actually found him. But there he was.

The street was jam packed with cars – way too many of them for such a tiny town. Sam didn't even bother to go looking for a parking space that was actually close to the library, just pulled off and parked on the side of the road about thirty feet away, right next to the sign that announced that parking was prohibited from here to the nearest road. The instant that the car stopped, Dean was jumping out, already rushing over toward Cas. That was the exact moment that Cas stopped glancing over his shoulder long enough to notice them, and was instantly on his feet. "Dean."

"Cas," Dean said, and couldn't stop himself from grabbing him and crushing him against his chest, holding him as tight as he could, Cas' hands rising up to squeeze Dean back just as hard. And maybe it was girly or cheesy or whatever, but for a second, Dean just rested his head against Cas' shoulder, and holy crap, it almost felt like everything was alright again.

He was torn between wanting to keep holding Cas like crazy, and wanting to step back so that he could get a better look at Cas' face. It only took a moment for the second instinct to win out, and he moved away, keeping his hands tight on Cas' shoulders as he looked him up and down. "No offense, but you look like shit. Except, you know, that's actually pretty good for a guy who was in a coma an hour ago."

Cas' lips twitched into a hint of a smile, though that quickly fell away, replaced by a worried expression as he studied Dean the same way. "You don't look well, either," he said, then his frown deepened as he added, "And your leg is wounded."

"It'll heal," Dean said with a shrug, then quickly added, "But what about you? What are-"

He cut himself off, because suddenly Cas grabbed Dean's hand and shoved back the sleeve of his jacket, and pulled out a pen from somewhere. Dean didn't know where he'd gotten it from, or where he'd been carrying it, but he immediately started drawing some weird symbol along the back of Dean's arm, using his other hand to hold him still and keep him from pulling away. "Cas, what the hell?" Dean demanded.

Cas didn't answer, just released his arm, then reached forward to grab Sam's hand and do the same thing to him. "Hello, Sam," he said, not looking up from the symbols he was drawing. "I am very glad that you have not been kidnapped by Azazel, and that you appear to be well."

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said slowly, frowning down at the symbols the same way that Dean was. "But what exactly are these for?"

"Protection," Cas said, and didn't add anything more. Instead, he glanced around, then grabbed both Sam and Dean by the wrists and began pulling them down the sidewalk toward the Impala. "Come, it isn't safe here. We should move to a more-secure location."

"Why?" Dean asked, hurrying up so that he was walking next to Cas instead of getting dragged along behind him. "I mean, I get that yeah, safety is a good idea. But why do we need to go there so fast? What's after you?"

Cas hesitated, looking like he didn't know how to answer, then said, "I believe that I may have seen Hester standing inside the library earlier. I do not believe that she saw me, but even so, I wish to be certain."

"Woah, woah, who's Hester?" Dean demanded. He was pretty certain that he'd heard that name before - and after a second, he remembered why. Cas had used that name when he was talking to that witch Jackson, trying to make up some story to keep him talking. And when Dean had asked about it later, he'd insisted that he knew nobody by that name, but he'd been denying it such an obvious way that Dean had known that there had to be more to the story. "And why is this girl after you?"

Again, Cas didn't seem to know how to answer. "She is someone who would be sent to retrieve me," he said. "Possibly. I am not certain, but I don't want to take that risk." And he looked like he was about to say more, but suddenly his hands tightened around Dean's wrist, nails digging into his skin, and suddenly he pulled both him and Sam to the side, leading them down a different road, off to the side.

"Wait, Cas, what are you doing?" Sam asked.

"She was there," Cas said, his voice stiff. He wasn't slowing down, either, even though going this speed had to be hard on the guy, considering how tired he looked already, his face pale and dark circles under his eyes. "I saw Hester standing beside the car. She did not appear to notice us, but it is not safe to return there. We must find another way."

"Okay," Dean said, and he pulled his arm free from Cas' grip. Instead of moving away, though, he stepped even closer to Cas, and reached forward so that he was the one holding Cas by the arm. "Listen, whatever's going on, we're gonna figure it out. She's not going to catch you, or anything like that. Just tell us what the fuck is going on."

They turned a corner onto another street, and for a second, Dean thought that Cas was actually going to give him a straight answer. Instead, Cas just glanced between him and Sam. "You did not tell anyone about my location, did you?" he asked. "It is very important that nobody knows. Not even any of the doctors at the hospital, or Amelia. You did not tell her, did you?"

"No, we didn't tell anyone," Dean said, and he thought that he saw Cas' shoulders relax, just the slightest bit. It didn't last long, though, before he was back to being just as stiff and worried as he had been before. "Why?" Dean demanded.

"I want to minimalize the chance of you having been overheard," Cas said, then added, his voice grim, "And I don't want them to have any reason to harm any innocent people in their attempts to find me. Something that they may be willing to do if they thought that there was any chance of receiving information in return." He frowned then, and added, "I suppose that they could have learned through other means. Or, it is entirely possible that Hester followed you here from the hospital – although, in that case, then she would have been able to find me already, and would not still be looking." He tilted his head, and for a moment, he was obviously thinking hard. Then he shook his head. "It doesn't particularly matter. The important thing is that she's here, and we have to find a way to get away."

"Cas, you're not making any sense," Sam said. "Seriously, just tell us who this Hester is."

Cas' frown deepened. "I'm sorry," he said, leading them on another turn around a corner. "This is all very difficult to explain, particularly when I know that you aren't going to believe me. I'm trying to decide the best way to- There." He suddenly broke off midsentence to gesture down the road. "She is Hester."

There were a ton of people on the road, enough that Dean couldn't tell who he was talking about. But there was one blonde woman in a gray suit standing maybe twenty feet away, and Dean swore that he had seen her just a minute earlier, standing near the Impala. God only knew how she had gotten here so fast, but Dean was pretty sure that she had to be the one that Cas was talking about.

Okay, whatever was going on, Dean decided that he was just going to go with it for now. If Cas said that they needed to get away from this lady, then that was what they were going to do.

The three of them didn't need to discuss it, just turned at the same time and headed down the next side street. They made it a couple feet before Sam said, "There," and pointed down a gap between two of the buildings. Dean nodded and led the way, limping forward as fast as they could. With any luck, they could cut across to a different street, and throw that woman – whoever she was – off their tracks.

Dean waited until they were halfway down the alleyway before he asked, "Okay, so we're running from some weird woman that we don't know anything else, for reasons that you haven't explained to us yet. Fine. But just tell me, how do you know all of this?"

That question, Cas answered immediately. "My memories have returned to me," he said. "I know much that I didn't remember before."

Dean stopped walking, and for a second, he just stood there, turned around so that he could stare at Cas. It was only when Cas nudged him forward that he started walking again. "You got your memories back?"

"Yes," Cas said. "That is what I just said."

Dean swallowed. "So then, you remember about being Jimmy Novak," he said. Except that that didn't make sense, since hadn't Amelia said that Cas had told her that he wasn't her husband? If Cas remembered everything now, then that was probably the last reaction that Dean would've expected from him.

Cas, though, immediately said, "No, I am not Jimmy Novak."

"What?" Sam demanded.

"He is... a vessel," Cas said slowly.

Dean stopped walking again, turning back around to face Cas. "A what?" he demanded.

Instead of answering, Cas reached forward to try to urge Dean forward. "It is vital that we try to escape before Hester finds us," he insisted, then frowned and amended, "Well, it is unlikely that we will be successful, even if we continue at all times. Even so, we must at least try."

Dean just shook his head and didn't move at all, except to plant himself firmly in the center of the narrow alleyway, to make sure that Cas couldn't move past him. "I'm not going anywhere 'til you explain what you meant by that," he said firmly, then couldn't help but shake his head again. "Seriously? A vessel, or whatever? What the hell?"

Cas looked like he was about to argue, then he frowned, suddenly appearing resigned to answering these questions. "No, I am not from Hell. Quite the opposite, actually," he finally said, glancing back at Sam for a moment to gauge his reaction before returning his eyes to Dean's face as he said, "I am an angel of the Lord."

Nobody spoke.

"And angel?" Dean repeated. "Seriously?"

Cas nodded once. "Of course. I would not joke about this," he said, then amended, "Or, I was an angel until recently. Then I briefly became human, and returned to being an angel for an even briefer period of time. And I am- I'm not quite sure what I am at the moment, but now does now seem to be time to worry about that."

Cas paused after that, watching Dean expectantly. Whether he expected Dean to say something or if he was waiting for him to start walking again, Dean had no idea, but either way, he was pretty sure that he wasn't about to do it. Instead, he looked past Cas, toward where Sam stood, making up the end of their line. Sam was staring back at Dean, and was wearing the exact same worried look that Dean was positive was etched onto his own face.

Finally, Cas took a step closer to Dean and said, "I know that you don't believe in angels-"

"No," Dean said immediately, shaking his head. "No, that's not even the problem here. Because you're right, I don't believe in them. But even if they were real- Seriously, man, you can't think that you're one of them. What, you just magically got your harp and your wings?"

"No, I don't believe that I have ever touched a harp," Cas said, looking momentarily confused. Then his face dropped and he reached behind him, looking almost as though he were touching something, even though there was nothing there. "And my wings useless," he said, letting his hand drop back to his side. "It appears as though all my powers are gone."

Right. That made sense, in the twisted way in which absolutely none of this actually made any sense at all. Because there was no way that Cas was actually an angel – no chance that he was any sort of supernatural thing. Dean had been living with him for months, he couldn't have hidden something like that. And, what, Dean was supposed to believe that Cas had just forgotten about something this big, and now he somehow managed to remember it all?

No. There was no way that Dean was going to believe it.

But the thing was, he could see that Cas believed it. It was so obvious in the way that he spoke that he wasn't messing around here. He honestly thought that everything that he said was the truth.

Cas was crazy. Either that, or the demons had done something to him – messed with his head until he believed things that weren't true, scrambled his brains somehow until he didn't know what was real and what wasn't.

Dean swallowed hard, and decided that he wasn't going to think about that anymore.

"Okay," he said slowly, and turned to continue down the alley again. This time, though, he reached back to grab Cas' hand, and kept a tight hold on it. For some reason, he felt like he had to make sure that Cas was still there. "Okay, let's just circle around to the Impala, and then we can head back to the motel."

"We should go to a different motel, just to be certain," Cas said. "The sigils that I drew on our hands will prevent the angels from finding us, but it is still best to avoid any places that the angels might suspect you to go to." A pause, then he said, "Actually, the safest thing to do would be to head to the next town over, to make it even harder for the angels to track us down."

Dean just nodded. "That's what we'll do, then," he said. Because he had no frickin' idea what was going on, but the last thing he needed was for Cas to start freaking out in the middle of the street. So okay, he'd humor Cas right now, then get him back to somewhere where he felt safe. Then it would be time to figure out what the hell was going on.

He definitely was not looking forward to that conversation. For now, though, he just tried to push it away. Focus on getting back to the Impala, that was the important thing.

"I know that you don't believe me," Cas said.

"Of course I do," Dean said, but Cas was already cutting him off.

"No, you don't," he said. "I didn't expect you to, to be honest. I already knew that I would have to convince you."

Dean didn't know what to say to that, since Cas was right. There was absolutely no way that Dean believed him, but now didn't seem like the best time to keep pointing that out. So he opted for just not responding, though he did tighten his hand around Cas'.

They slipped out of the alleyway and out onto the street. Dean couldn't help but instinctively glance around, looking for this Hester lady. Although, if Cas was going on about angels and shit, then who knew if this woman was even a threat. Hell, who knew if she was even real? Cas could be getting paranoid, making up threats where there weren't any.

Still, though, if this Hester was around here somewhere, then Dean figured it would still be better to make sure that she and Cas didn't meet up. Just to be sure.

"You know, if we follow that road around, then we should be able to get back to the Impala quick," Sam said, gesturing down the road. Dean nodded, and looked back at Cas to see what he thought. Though, honestly, if Cas did disagree with the plan, then Dean wasn't sure what he was going to do. Because the best thing for Cas would definitely be to get him back somewhere safe – not to mention that Dean really fucking didn't want to spend the afternoon running around downtown, especially if there wasn't actually anything to hide from. He wanted to just get back to the motel and figure out what the they should do next.

Luckily, Cas thought for another moment, then nodded. "That sounds like a good plan," he said. "So long as Hester is no longer watching the Impala, then we should be able to sneak away now. That would be the best thing."

Dean nodded, then frowned, touching Cas' arm with his free hand. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, voice low.

Cas definitely didn't look like he was. His face was even paler than it had been a minute ago, and his whole body seemed to sag, like he would only make it a few more steps before he dropped. But he squared his shoulders and nodded firmly. "I'll be fine," he promised, then amended, "Or, I'll be able to continue moving until we are able to find a safe place to rest. I suppose that that's close enough."

And, well, yeah, in their lives, that was pretty much the best that you could expect. Didn't exactly make Dean feel any better, though, and he switched to wrapping his arm around Cas' waist, doing what he could to help hold him up. Not that Cas seemed to need it – for all that he looked like he was just seconds from passing out, the guy was surprisingly steady on his feet – but it made Dean feel better, at least.

They had been walking for maybe another thirty seconds when Dean saw her again. That woman, Hester. She was standing in front of them, maybe thirty feet away, mostly lost in the crowd, but he swore he caught a glimpse of her. She had her back to them, but it was definitely the same woman. Then a large guy moved between her and Dean, or else Dean might have blinked – either way, it was like she just vanished during the split second that Dean's eyes were off of her.

Dean stiffened. "There," he said, nodding his head up the road.

"You saw her?" Cas demanded.

"Yeah. She's gone now, though," Dean said, and looked over at Sammy, making sure to meet his brother's eyes. "She just vanished. Poof."

Sam grimaced. It was obvious that they were both thinking the same thing – demons. They were pretty much the only supernatural thing that could just disappear like that, except for ghosts. And demons definitely seemed like the better guess, considering that everything in their lives lately was always because of those bastards.

"We have our hex bags," Sam said in a low voice, and Dean nodded.

"Those won't work on an angel," Cas said, "but the sigils that I've drawn on your arms should prevent her from being able to sense our presence. As long as she doesn't see us."

Cas abruptly turned off to the side, pushing his way into the nearest store, leaving Sam and Dean to hurry after him. The store turned out to be one of those incredibly girly shops, with sparkly, pink decorations everywhere and some sort of perfume hanging in the air, strong enough that it nearly made Dean start hacking up his lungs. Even Sam looked disgusted, though Cas didn't even seem bothered, and immediately made a beeline for the back of the store.

"What exactly are you doing?" Sam asked.

Cas didn't answer. They were near the dressing rooms now, and Cas stepped forward and pushed on the nearest door. It didn't open, so he moved to the next one, and this one was unlocked. "In here," he said, gesturing in front of him.

Dean scowled and shook his head. "Are you crazy?" he hissed, taking a step closer to Cas. "We can't go into the dressing rooms of some girl's clothing stores. We're going to look like complete perverts."

"Somehow, I think that escaping from Hester's notice is more important," Cas said, and he had this stubborn look on his face, like he wasn't going to budge no matter what they did. Dean glanced around the store – luckily it wasn't crowded, and it didn't look like people had really noticed them yet. Still, though, if they kept standing here for longer, then they were definitely going to attract attention, and he didn't even want to know what people would start thinking if they saw three men arguing next to a display of little kids' back-to-school fashion.

"Fine," he snapped, keeping his voice low so that nobody would be able to overhear. At least they'd be able to close the goddamn door so that nobody would know that they were in there.

"Cas?" Sam asked, once they were all inside. Lucky the rooms were decent sized, so there was barely enough room for all of them to fit inside. "What exactly are we doing in here?"

"Hiding from Hester, as I said," Cas said, turning to glance between Dean and Sam. "Angels have the ability to search for faster and more effectively than any other being, but as I said before, the sigils will prevent her from sensing our presence. She will still be able to search for us, but so long as we stay somewhere where she does not think to search, then I hope that we will avoid notice."

He was leaning back against the wall now, his body limp enough that Dean was honestly surprised he hadn't fallen over. Dean frowned, and reached over to help hold him up again. There was a chair in the corner of the room, and Dean helped guide him toward it. "Might as well rest while you can," he said, grabbing the purple shirt that had been left on the chair and throwing it to the floor, where it joined about a half dozen other random pieces of clothes. Apparently nobody had bothered to pick up in here in a while.

"Thank you," Cas said, and his voice sounded slightly steadier. He slumped back in the chair, one hand propping up his head, but continued, "Out of all the angels in my garrison, Hester has spent the most time on Earth. She knows the customs. Dean's reaction confirmed my theory that this would be a place where she would not expect to find us, so I thought that it would be an ideal place to strategize."

"...Okay," Dean said slowly, not sure how to respond to that.

Cas added, "Of course, once she has searched all of the areas where we are likely to be, she will move onto searching the places where she would not expect to find us. We cannot stay here for long. Still, though, I imagine that we have at least a few minutes of safety."

"Strategizing, huh," Dean said, and shook his head. "We head back for the Impala. If anything tries to attack us, we kill it. That's my strategy."

Cas frowned. "That doesn't seem like a well-developed plan," he said.

"Simple, though," Dean said.

"Cas," Sam suddenly broke in. "What can you tell us about Hester?" Dean threw Sam a look, trying to silently ask why he was bothering with that question. Right then, there was no way they could trust whatever Cas said – or, at least, they didn't have a clue what they could trust and what they couldn't. And Dean didn't want to think about that, didn't want to acknowledge that there was something messed up in Cas' head, making him believe in crazy things, but they didn't have a choice. If there really was some demon out there looking for them, then they couldn't afford to get caught up in make-believe. They had to find a way to stop it.

Sam just shrugged, then turned toward Cas, waiting for an answer.

"She's a good soldier," Cas said slowly. "As I said, she was a member of my garrison – my second-in-command, actually. I knew her well."

"And now she's out there trying to kill you?" Dean demanded. "Seriously?" Not that he was buying into anything that Cas had to say, but still, the story didn't make sense.

"All angels follow the commands from those above us," Cas explained. "If she was ordered to come here by one of the archangels, then she would not have a choice." He stopped them, tilting his head to the side, squinting his eyes as he thought. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more thoughtful. "I do not actually know if she came here to kill me. She might-" Then he broke off, and shook his head. "Either way, I don't want to find out. But there is hope that she may not be here with malicious purpose. She was the last being that I saw before I became human." He spoke that last part like it was supposed to somehow make sense to them, like it explained why she might not be one of the bad guys.

"So, you saw her right before you took this Jimmy guy's body?" Dean asked, and couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice. He tried, he honestly did. He just couldn't help it – Cas' story was fucking ridiculous. Not to mention that it was scary enough that Dean was pretty sure that he had to choose between acting obnoxious about the whole thing or breaking down, and he definitely knew which option he preferred.

Cas stiffened, suddenly enough that it made Dean take a step closer to him, concerned. "I did not take Jimmy's body," Cas said, snapping the words from between gritted teeth. "I was placed in this body after I fell from grace. It was not my decision, and don't you dare to imply otherwise."

"Whoa, whoa, okay, buddy," Dean said quickly, raising his hands in fake surrender. "Right, you didn't mean for any of this to happen. Fine. No need to get so pissed."

"I am not pissed," Cas said through clenched teeth, his hands balling into fists. "I just do not appreciate the implication that I would choose to do something like this." Then he took a deep breath, and – before Dean even got the chance to ask what _this_ was – he said, "We must decide how we plan on getting back to the Impala."

"I still say we stick to the direct approach," Dean said. "Head back to the Impala the fastest way, and stab the bitch if she tries to get in the way."

Cas was already shaking his head. "You underestimate the angels," he said. "They are far stronger than you know. You would not be able to defeat Hester."

"Come on," Dean urged, and reached into his leather jacket to touch the handle of the Cas' blade. "We can take her." A knife like this wouldn't work on a demon – not unless there was something special about it – but at the very least, it could be good for holding her at bay while one of them spouted off an exorcism. And if she was any other type of thing – as unlikely as it seemed – then the blade should be able to do some damage.

"Dean, I know that you and Sam are experienced hunters, but you have never faced an angel," Cas said, voice low and intense, lifting his head to stare Dean in the eyes. "Angels are-"

"Jesus, Cas, this isn't the time for this," Dean snapped. "There's no such thing as angels, okay?"

The moment that the words were out of his mouth, he was fucking certain that he shouldn't have said it. At least, he shouldn't have said it right now, and not like that. Should've tried to act more gentle about it, should've waited 'til they were back at the motel, should have done anything but snapped it at him while they were both stressed enough already. Except that his leg was killing him, and Cas still looked like he was in god-awful shape, and they were being hunted by something that he didn't even know. Add that to the lack of sleep and the leftover panic from Cas being in a frickin' coma, and Dean didn't exactly feel eager to hold his tongue.

Still. Didn't mean he should've said it. The fact that he knew that only made him feel worse.

Cas' eyes narrowed slightly, and he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly to look up at Dean easier. "And we don't have time for your disbelief," he said, then tilted his head, his eyes looking distant, the way they always did when he was getting some idea. And despite everything, Dean just crossed his arms and didn't say a word, waiting to hear what Cas was going to say.

"Sam spoke to you while you were in the hospital two months ago," Cas suddenly said.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You could hear us talking about that while you were unconscious?"

Cas shook his head. "I heard nothing during that time," he said, then immediately continued, "He began looking through your father's journal, and promised that he would not give up on finding a way to save you."

Sam immediately cut his eyes over to Dean, and judging by the look on his face, Dean was pretty certain that Cas had gotten that right.

"Lucky guess," Dean said. It didn't mean anything.

Cas' eyes narrowed further. "Big scare today, huh?" he suddenly asked, but there was something off about his voice, making it sound monotone, almost like he was reciting something from memory. "Don't worry, though. I could've told them that you'd be too stubborn to die for real. They probably didn't even have to use the machines, right? You just gave death the old 'fuck you' and restarted your own heart."

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean asked, because none of those words were making any sense, and honestly, hearing Cas speak in such a flat voice was creeping him out, big time.

Cas ignored him, just continued speaking without pause. "Let's not let that happen again, though. I'm not giving up. I'm-"

"How do you know that?" Sam demanded, and Cas' voice cut off, his head turning to look at Sam instead.

"I was there," he said. "I heard you speak those words to Dean."

"No way," Sam said immediately. "No way. How is that possible?"

"I already told you, I am an angel. Or, I was, in any case." Cas turned back to Dean, and asked, "Will this be sufficient proof, or do you require more?"

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it, not knowing what the hell he was thinking.

Cas thinking that he was an angel was one thing. But saying all that stuff, and having Sam react like that- Apparently that must've been what Sam had actually said while Dean was in that coma, because there's no way Sam would be acting like that if his reaction wasn't genuine. Sam could be a bitch sometime, but there was no way that he would do something like that. Meaning that however Cas had gotten this knowledge, it had to be real.

Which didn't necessarily mean angels. But it did mean… something. And shit, Dean didn't couldn't even begin to figure out what that something might be.

"We can discuss this later," Cas said, his voice softer now. He slumped back in his seat again, and admitted, "I will not give up, of course, but I do not think that I will be able to continue onward for much longer. We should get back to the Impala as soon as possible. Do either of you have any ideas?"

Sam and Dean exchanged another glance. "Dean might be right," Sam said after a minute. "We don't know the town well enough to know how to sneak around. But if we circle around, we should be able to end up back by the library again." He shrugged. "I say we just make a run for it – or, well, we can at least try to go as fast as we can." Yeah, because with Dean and Cas in the shape they were in, odds were that not a lot of running was going to be happening. "And if we do get found by Hester… Well, then, I guess that we at least have to try to fight."

Dean nodded, and drew the blade from his jacket. "Here," he said, holding it out to Sam. "You can handle the stabbing."

"You sure?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows at Dean as he took the blade.

Dean nodded, though he grimaced as he did. "I get the feeling that you're gonna be the one who's fastest on his feet right now," he said, scowling down at his injured leg. "You'd better be the one in charge of fighting the bitch. You be the bodyguard, and I'll help Cas."

"Sounds like a plan, then," Sam said carefully tucking his hand beneath his jacket to hide the blade. "Want me to lead the way? Or should I take the rear and watch your backs?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but Cas beat him to it. "Follow behind us, please," he said. "I get the feeling that Dean and I will be significantly slower than you are, and I don't want to risk us being left behind."

"What he said," Dean added, and reached out his arm to help Cas to his feet.

Cas frowned. "I do not need as much help as you seem to think," he said. "I am fully capable of moving on my own." But even so, he accepted the hand that Dean held out to him, and wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulders without complaining.

"Yeah, sure you are," Dean said, then nodded to Sam. "Okay," he said. "Let's go. And let's hope that nobody sees us sneaking out of the frickin' dressing room or else we're gonna look shady as fuck."

Surprisingly, they actually did manage to sneak out of the store without drawing too much attention. Dean just hoped that their luck would hold out long enough for them to get back to his baby in one piece.

They didn't have any hope of blending in once they actually reached the street, though. Seriously, they couldn't take two steps without someone sending an odd look their way. Not that Dean didn't understand why, with the way that Cas looked – hospital scrubs, bare feet, leaning on Dean for support as they limped forward way faster than what was probably smart for either of them? Yeah, not exactly something you saw every day. Sam wasn't exactly helping much, either, with the way that he kept his hand tucked into his inside jacket pocket, obviously holding onto the handle of the blade and ready to draw it in an instant. It wasn't exactly subtle.

Oh, well. They just needed to make it a little farther, and then they'd be able to hit the road, and it wouldn't matter what any of these random civilians thought.

Sam hurried forward a few steps, leaning closer so that he could speak to Dean and Cas in a low voice. "If we cut through that parking lot, I think we can make it back to the library quicker," he said, gesturing around to the back of the strip mall they were passing. "We might have to cut through a couple other buildings, but it should get us there."

Dean nodded, and he and Cas immediately turned and veered off to the left. Because ducking around behind a building, toward the empty parking lot where the employees left their cars and it looked like absolutely no one else ever went? Definitely not suspicious.

It was also exactly the kind of place where you'd expect someone to go when they were trying to hide. Dean figured they'd just have to hope that Hester didn't choose this moment to play detective in this particular spot.

Assuming that Hester was some sort of angel, or super-powerful being, or something. Trying to decide what he actually believed was just making his head turn in circles, so he pushed those thoughts aside.

"What do you think are the odds we actually make it back to the Impala before she finds us?" Dean asked, lowering his head to whisper directly into Cas' ear.

"Slim to virtually nonexistent," Cas said at once, without even stopping to think about it. Like he'd had the answer all worked out already.

Well. That was encouraging.

"We have to try, though," Cas added after a moment, and Dean didn't say anything in argument, though he did speed up their pace just a little bit more.

At first, it almost seemed like Cas was going to be wrong. They made it all the way to the back of the building, and Dean glanced over his shoulders, scanning the entire area behind him. There was no sign that they were being followed by Hester – or anything else, for that matter. They just had to make it through this parking lot, and then it should be a straight shot down the street to where the Impala was waiting. Simple. Dean was pretty sure they were actually going to make it.

Then he turned back around, and Hester was right there. She hadn't been there literally two seconds ago, but apparently that didn't matter, because she had just suddenly appeared in front of them without any warning.

Dean had a sudden thought that maybe it wasn't so much that they'd been able to escape Hester before this. Maybe it was more like she was waiting until there weren't any witnesses.

Dean reacted instantly, moving forward to try to put himself between Hester and Cas as much as possible. Not that Cas was making it easy, the way that was also trying to do the exact same thing. Dean was the one who won that round, though. If being able to make himself the one standing closest to an angry possibly-and-angel was considered winning.

Dean was the one standing closest to her, and Sam had already drawn the blade and had it ready in his hand, like he was just waiting for the perfect moment to attack her with it. But Hester didn't pay attention to either of them – didn't even spare them a glance, just kept her eyes locked on Cas, a scowl twisting her face. "Castiel," she said, voice low.

"Hester," Cas said, copying the same tone of voice, and suddenly making himself sound about ten times more intimidating than Dean had ever heard him. Seriously, if Dean hadn't been so used to Cas – and if Cas hadn't been on his side – then Dean was pretty sure that that voice would at least make him flinch, even though he definitely would have denied it later.

"You," she said, and Dean could practically see the fury growing on her face as she took a step forward. He instinctively reached into his jacket, hand closing around the gun that he kept there. Forget what Cas had said about the blade being the only thing that could harm her. Dean wasn't going to stand there and watch while Hester had that expression on her face. And from the way that Sam shifted his weight beside them, Dean was pretty damn sure that he felt the exact same way.

"What have you done?" she demanded, her voice rising, growing louder as she took another step towards them. She was now maybe six or seven feet away, more or less, and Dean swore, if she moved any closer, then Dean was going to blow her full of lead, damn the consequences.

"What I had to," Cas said, his voice even lower now, sounding more like he was trying to calm her down than intimidate her. Not that it looked like it was working. "And I believe that you know it, too."

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say, because instantly she moved forward, closing the distance between them in two strides. Dean yanked out the gun and had it pointed toward her heart in an instant – at this distance, there was no way in hell that he could miss – but he never got the chance to pull the trigger.

Instead, he was facedown on the pavement in the blink of an eye, and for a second, he couldn't do anything but just lay there and try to remember how he'd gotten there – if he'd been thrown, or if he'd just suddenly appeared there, or what the fuck was going on.

Then he remembered Cas, and immediately pushed himself to his feet.

Except that he couldn't. He managed to prop himself up on his elbows, but no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn't lift his torso more than a foot off the ground, and his legs wouldn't move at all. Some unseen force was holding him in place.

Fuck.

Sam was on the ground, too, looking like he'd fallen back on his ass and couldn't get up. Whatever was happening to Dean, clearly Sam was feeling the effects, too. The blade was on the ground, like it'd gone skittering across the pavement, just out of Sam's reach.

Cas was the only one still on his feet, still facing Hester. He had his back straight and his head high, glaring at her with narrowed eyes, looking like he was trying to be intimidating, but he just... wasn't. Don't get him wrong, Cas was badass when he wanted to be, Dean was never going to doubt it. But it was hard to look like you'd stand a chance in a fight when you were also swaying slightly on your feet.

"Why have you come here, Hester?" Cas asked, and his voice didn't tremble or shake at all, Dean had to give him credit.

Hester seemed less impressed. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. Instead, she reached up and grabbed Cas by the shoulders, shoving him backward until he collided into one of the random cars parked nearby, cornered there where he wouldn't be able to get away.

"You let him go right fucking now," Dean demanded, immediately starting to fight twice as hard to break away from whatever force was holding him like this, but it still didn't even budge. Whatever it was, it was strong as fuck. "Or else I-"

He didn't get to finish the threat. Hester glanced over his shoulder at him for just an instant, and then his voice died in his throat. It wasn't that he felt any different, or that she was somehow stopping him from opening his mouth. He kept trying to speak – he was screaming every swear word he knew as loud as he could – and he wasn't making any noise.

"Dean," Sam shouted, but he didn't say anything more. Dean wasn't sure if Hester had given him the same treatment, or if he had just decided to keep quiet and not risk having it happen. Either way, Dean could see him straining, arm extended as far as he could, trying to close his hand around the blade. Wasn't working for him, either.

Cas immediately looked over at them, his eyes darting between Dean and Sam, and Dean could see both the worry and the anger in them as he turned back to Hester. "Why are you here?" he demanded again, in a voice that was stronger this time, and a hell of a lot more angry. "What do you want from me?"

Her hands tightened on his shoulders, and Dean saw the way that Cas stiffened, his face going blank all of a sudden. Dean recognized that face. It was the same way that he'd looked when Dean had been stitching up his wounds after he'd been kidnapped, and he'd kept his face completely emotionless to keep from letting on that it hurt. And then Dean was fighting harder against whatever was holding him down, trying to shout some of the swears that he hadn't used in years, but all of it was _still not frickin' working._

That was when he saw it. A gray shape writhing in the corner of his eye, disappearing the moment he tried to turn to look at it. But everywhere he looked, they were there, just barely in his range of vision, just enough that he could see them taunting him every time he turned his head.

Then Sam's skin started melting, his whole face dripping like it candle wax until his features weren't visible, just a distorted mass of flesh, constantly shifting and bubbling into new shapes.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed, and thrashed on the ground, trying to throw himself free and run to Sam, to grab him and try to figure out what the hell Hester had done. And nobody could hear him call Sam's name, but a second later, he heard Sam yell back, "Dean!" It was distorted, somehow growing louder then softer then louder again all in the space of a second, but it was definitely Sam's voice, coming somewhere from the contorted mass of flesh where his face used to be.

"What are you doing to him?" Cas demanded, leaning forward, getting as close to Hester as he could and glaring daggers at her, but he wasn't even glancing in Sam's direction. Instead, he took his eyes off of Hester just long enough to turn toward Dean, more like he was the one that he had to worry about, not Sam. Dean held his gaze for about half a second, until Cas' skin started cracking and splitting, blood oozing out from the cracks and dripping down his face.

Dean took a deep breath, trying to get his heart to stop racing. Another hallucination, then. And it was a fucking bad time for this to start up again, but still, it was all in his head, not something that Hester had done. He hadn't been able to tell – considering that some super-badass-powerful-creature thing was attacking them, who knew what she could do to them?

But okay. The hallucinations were shitty, but he could handle them. At least he didn't actually have to worry about Sam suddenly melting into a ball of goo.

Hester ignored the question completely, but it did get her to speak. "You were our leader," she said, and her voice sounded even creepier with the way that it was echoing in Dean's ears, but even through the distortion, he could still hear how bitter she sounded. "I trusted you. We call trusted you."

Slowly, Cas nodded. The motion did strange things to the hallucinations, sending drops of blood splattering to the floor. Dean wanted to close his eyes and try if he could force the hallucinations away like he always did, but he didn't want to take his eyes off of Cas long enough to do it. Seeing him through this distorted, fucked up view was better than not being able to watch at all, even if it was just for a couple seconds.

Not that watching would do any good. Not when he couldn't force himself up to go actually do something to help.

He still couldn't tear his eyes away, though.

"Yes," Cas agreed. Hard to tell for sure, but Dean thought that the tone of his voice was different now – more like he was definitely on the defensive, working to calm her down more than anything else. "And I trusted Naomi," he continued. "We all believed that our commanding officers would do what was best. I know that I, at least, was horribly mistaken."

Dean knew immediately that that was the wrong thing to say, that it was definitely going to set Hester off. And he was right. Hester roughly yanked Cas forward, then slammed him back against the car again, hard enough to set off the alarm. A second passed, and then the alarm abruptly went silent.

"You betrayed all of us," Hester said, her voice still getting louder, though she was enunciating each word carefully, like it was specially chosen, like she was deliberating over every word she said. "You turned against Heaven and everything that the angels were supposed to stand for."

Dean stiffened at the word angels. Hearing Cas say it was one thing. Having Cas start repeating Sam's words as some kind of proof was something else entirely. But having someone else act like it was real? Jesus, that wasn't even part of the same universe as the first two.

He didn't have long to think about it, though, before Cas was replying.

"I was not the one who betrayed our purpose," he insisted, once again leaning forward, getting closer to her.

She didn't back away, or move at all. "You went against your orders, and for what?" she demanded, practically spitting the words. "For the sake of some human you're in love with?"

"For all of humanity," Cas corrected before she had even finished speaking. Then he paused, and his eyes slid toward Dean, watching him for a moment before returning his gaze to Hester. "Yes, for Dean Winchester, but he wasn't the only reason." Abruptly, Cas reached up, grabbing Hester's shoulders and squeezing the same way that she squeezed his. "We have always protected the humans. God's favorite creation. Lucifer was sentenced to an eternity of damnation because he refused to care for them, and now Naomi and the archangels plan on beginning an apocalypse that could wipe out the entire population."

Hester took her hands off of Cas, but it was only to grab him by the wrist and rip his hands off of her, throwing him away from her hard enough that Cas fell back, collapsed to the ground, his back still against the side of the car, head bowed. The sound of his heavy, rasping breaths was way too loud in Dean's ears.

"I follow orders," Hester said, and slammed her hands forward, palms flat against the car, directly above Cas' body, so that she was towering over him, blocking him in. "I don't question my place."

"Even if you know that this is not what our Father would have wanted for us," Cas asked, his voice weaker than it had been a moment ago, but stubborn as all get out, like he wouldn't be backing down.

"You know nothing of our Father's wishes," Hester said, her voice practically a growl now. "No more than any of us."

"No," Cas agreed, still not lifting his head to look at her. "But I do know that the destruction of humanity can't be allowed. I will fight against it, even if I am fighting alone."

For a moment, neither moved or spoke a word. Then Cas tilted his head, studying Hester. "Naomi didn't send you, did she?" he asked. "She doesn't even know that you're here."

"And what makes you think that?" Hester asked, voice tight, fingers twitching on the car like she was trying to crumple the metal.

"You would have killed me already if you were following her orders, for one," Cas said. He broke off for a moment, coughing, then had to take a deep breath before he could continue. "If you wanted me dead, or if you planned on dragging me back to Naomi, then there's nothing I could do to stop it, and we both know it. So why haven't you?" He paused, just long enough to make it seem like he was waiting for an answer, then said, "And even if Naomi doesn't know what you did the last time you were ordered to kill me, she still would not send you alone, without anyone as backup."

"What happened last time," Hester repeated, voice flat.

Slowly, Cas lifted his head, tilting it back so that he could once more stare her in the eyes.

"All of my memories have returned to me," he said, voice even. "I remember everything, Hester."

"I don't know-" Hester started to insist, but Cas just kept talking, speaking over her as if her words didn't matter.

"I remember that you were the one who found me when I was fleeing from Naomi," he said, and paused for just the slightest moment before saying, "And I remember that you were the one who cut away my grace."

"Don't you dare imply-" she said, and cut herself off, not saying anything more.

Cas didn't answer, but he kept his head tilted back to stare at her, and slowly began to stand. She moved a step back, whether to allow him to stand or because she wanted to get away from him, it was hard to tell. Probably the second one, judging by the look on her face as she glared at Cas.

It took Cas a minute to push himself up to his feet, grabbing on to the car's side mirror to hold himself up, legs buckling like it was all he could do to keep himself up. And that minute was long enough for the cracks to spread all the way across his body, splitting wider until it looked like he was going to collapse into pieces like a broken doll, and Dean was really fucking wishing that he could just make himself see clearly.

Then Cas took a deep breath, and stepped forward, away from the car. He was back to being only inches from Hester's face, and wasn't holding anything for support, even though he looked like he should be. He didn't move back toward the car, though, or reach for anything else. Instead, he continued to face Hester, and said, his voice low but strong, "I don't need to imply anything. We both know what you did."

Hester reached forward and grabbed Cas by the front of his hospital scrubs, but instead of throwing him backward, this time she yanked him forward until her practically tumbled into her, faces almost touching. Cas cried out, from surprise or pain or both, but Hester didn't even react. "I am loyal to Heaven," she said, her voice dangerous. Dean heard that kind of voice all the time, in monsters and humans, and hell, even in himself more than once. And it always meant that someone was getting ready to snap. "I would never betray my purpose."

Cas was breathing even faster, in shallow, rasping breaths that made it obvious that he was in pain. "You already did," he gasped.

"Don't-" Hester began.

Cas didn't listen to her, or even give her time to finish. Instead, he looked her in the eyes as much as he could and said, voice louder and completely clear, "I was not the only one who rebelled."

The reaction was instant. Dean could feel it against his skin – a sudden weight in the air, a buzzing in his bones. Hester didn't move an inch, and neither did Cas, but it was still- the atmosphere between them was different. Or, shit, Dean didn't have the words to describe it, but he could practically feel the air between them, heavy as frickin' concrete and crackling with electricity, strong enough that made his whole body tremble and burn.

And it was hard to tell, but based on what he could see of Sam's expression – all wide-eyed and shocked – he was pretty sure that his little brother was feeling this same thing, too.

"Never say that again," Hester said. She was barely moving now, not even twitching an inch, except to narrow her eyes slightly. But her voice snapped, quick and powerful as a whip, and Dean swore that he could actually feel her words strike him.

Cas didn't seem affected. Or, at least, if he was, he wasn't letting on. "It's true," he said. "You can't deny that you have already turned against Naomi."

Again, Hester wasn't moving, absolutely nothing about her expression was changing-

Except then it was. Or, she still hadn't moved, but it was like she was suddenly lit up from the inside. Not in some stupid metaphorical way, either – there was this crazy light shining out of her eyes, and she was literally glowing. All at once, the air was twice as heavy, until it felt like lead in his lungs, almost like he couldn't breathe.

Dean quickly squeezed his eyes closed, even though he hated to do it, didn't want to take his eyes off of Cas right now. But this hallucination wasn't like the others. It felt way too real, in a way that none of the other ones ever did. It was fucking messing with his head, and he needed it to go away _right fucking now._

He opened his eyes a moment later. The glow was still there. If anything it'd gotten stronger.

Cas was staggering now, looking like he was barely managing to keep himself upright. Or, more, it looked like he wasn't keeping himself up, like he would have collapsed to his knees if Hester hadn't been holding him by the collar still. But he kept talking. "The orders were clear," he insisted. "I wasn't supposed to leave Heaven alive. You were the one who let me go."

Hester moved. Dean didn't see her do it, but suddenly, Cas was thrown back against the car once more, and Hester was standing directly in front of him, only a foot away.

"You had me at your mercy," Cas said, the words coming out as a gasp. "You could have killed me then. You're not going to do it now."

Hester's hand flew out, reaching for Cas' throat, and Dean tried to scream a warning, but nothing came out.

Cas reached up and grabbed her, fingers tightening around her wrist.

Lights flashed behind her, stronger than before. Dean squinted and half-closed his eyes, lifting one hand to try to shield his eyes, but he could still feel his eyes burn.

And he could see wings.

That was what they looked like – dark shadows that stretched up behind her, inky shapes that were visible for barely a second, but long enough that Dean definitely saw them.

They didn't seem like the normal hallucinations, either. Except they had to be, right?

Cas was flinching away, shying back against the car like he could feel the power radiating off of Hester, too. But he squeezed her wrist tighter, not letting her pull away.

Dean was pretty sure that if she tried, Hester would be able to yank her arm free in an instant. But she didn't.

"You know what Naomi is doing, don't you?" he demanded, his voice fast and about ten times more urgent now.

"The prophesies-" Hester began.

"No," Cas said immediately. "Not the prophesies, not even the end of the world. Do you know that she's been brainwashing all of the angels for millenniums, rewriting our minds to make us into her pawns. Keeping us from ever disobeying."

Hester froze. It was hard to tell, when she wasn't moving all that much before, but Dean swore that she went even stiller, somehow. "How?" she demanded after a moment of silence, her voice harsh.

"By tapping into our minds and rewriting our programing," Cas said, voice a little stronger now. He even managed to move away from the car, just long enough to lean towards her. "And we can never remember that she's been doing it. I managed to escape this time, and that's the only reason why I know the truth."

Hester remained still, just long enough for Dean to see the shocked look appear on her face, followed by her eyes narrowing. Then she vanished just as suddenly as she'd appeared – no warning, just gone. Immediately, the air lightened, until Dean felt like he could actually fucking breathe correctly.

Cas must feel the same way, too, because the first thing he did was take a deep breath. Then he slumped back against the car, sliding down to the ground, head back and eyes closed.

Which was the exact moment that Dean realized he could talk and move again, because he said, "Cas!" and quickly scrambled to his feet, ignoring the way his leg protested as he hurried over and crouched next to Cas. Sam did the same, stopping only to grab the blade again before running over and kneeling on Cas' other side.

Cas opened his eyes, and for a moment, he studied Dean through narrowed eyes. Then he smiled. "It appears as though Hester didn't leave any permanent effects on you," he said. "That is fortunate."

"Hey," Dean said, carefully reaching forward to wrap an arm around Cas' shoulders. "You okay?"

"Yes," Cas promised, and took another deep breath. "I'm still weak from being unconscious for so long, and Hester didn't help matters at all. But I'm fine. I will recover."

Dean nodded. Cas looked like he was telling the truth, at least. Good enough. That meant that he could turn to the other thing that he needed to know. Which was good, because honest, he didn't think that he'd be able to hold back any longer.

"You saw that, right?" he demanded, turning over to Sam, then almost doing a double take at the sight of his brother's face. Not because there was anything weird about it – actually, it was the complete opposite. Sam's face was completely back to normal. No hallucinations, no nothing.

Dean didn't have time to dwell on that, though, because Sam was already nodding. "If you're talking about the glowing and wings," he said, "then yeah, I saw that." He hesitated, then glanced at Cas for a moment before adding, "And I wasn't the only one who felt that, was I? The way that you could just feel the power rolling off of her, like it was almost something physical?"

Dean took a deep breath. Okay, so that hadn't been part of the hallucinations, either. "No," he agreed, "you were definitely not the only one who felt that."

"And it wasn't the first time, either," Sam continued, almost without giving Dean time to finish. "It's- I told you that I felt something when you were healed from that coma, right?" And again, he barely waited for Dean to finish nodding before he was saying, "This felt exactly the same way. Just, not as strong."

Okay, this was definitely getting weird, even by their standards. Or, more like it had already passed weird twenty miles back, and was well on its way into fucking crazy. And Dean tried to think of a better explanation, something to tell him why all of this stuff could be happening, but he was drawing a blank. Honestly, there was only one thing that he could think of, and that was what was scaring him.

He turned to look at Cas, who was still leaning back against the car, eyes only half open. Right then, he definitely didn't look like some badass warrior of God. Except Dean couldn't think of any other explanation.

"Seriously, Cas?" he asked. "You really are a frickin' angel?"


	30. Part 2 Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

By unspoken agreement, none of them said a word the whole drive back to the motel. Dean knew that there was a whole lot that had to be said – understatement – but they might as well get somewhere safe and comfortable before they brought up that whole pile of crap.

And maybe part of that was the fact that he was definitely not ready to say anything. He needed the five-minute drive to try to clear his head a bit. Although, five minutes didn't seem nearly long enough, considering that he was trying to figure out how the hell his boyfriend had somehow turned into some sort of Heavenly warrior.

Then they reached the motel, and it was time to actually talk this out.

Cas started off, sitting ramrod straight in the chair, hands folded on the table in front of him, even though he was pale enough that he looked like he should definitely be in bed. Dean had tried to convince him to at least lie down – it wasn't like he couldn't talk from the bed just as easily – but Cas had just shaken his head. And Dean didn't know what was making him so stubborn about this, but he hadn't argued too much, anyway.

Sam took the seat across from Cas, while Dean paced back and forth across the room as he listened to Cas go on and on about angels and Lucifer and mind control. And Sam had tried a few times to insist that Dean needed to stop moving so much before he did something to reopen his wounds – honestly, it was a frickin' miracle that that hadn't happened already – but Dean hadn't listened. He needed to be moving. It made it easier. So okay, maybe he did understand why Cas was being so stubborn.

It wasn't until Cas finally paused that Dean stopped pacing, and spun to face him. "Okay," he said. "So, you're an angel. Hester's an angel. Fucking everyone is an angel, and they're trying to end the world."

Cas frowned, looking confused for a moment. "Not everyone is an angel," he said slowly. "Actually, the number of humans now exceeds the number of angels, particularly if you count the souls which exist in Heaven-"

"Not the point, Cas," Dean said, and Cas' mouth immediately snapped closed. Dean let out a long breath, reaching up to rub his forehead with one hand, covering his eyes for just a moment. "Okay, so let's make sure I've got this right. Some of the demons have this plan to free Lucifer from Hell so that humanity can be destroyed, and the angels are going along with it so that they can stick Michael into some prizefight. One on one against Lucifer, and if he loses then humanity is fucked. That right?"

Cas nodded slowly. "Well, to borrow your term," he said slowly, "I believe that humanity would be 'fucked' no matter which side won." He even made air quotes with his fingers and everything. And it was weird, because Dean was still trying to figure out how he was supposed to reconcile all of this in his head – deal with the fact that Cas was apparently some all-powerful angel. Then he went and did something dorky like that, and Dean could see it. Okay, there Cas was. Still the same weird guy that Dean had fallen for.

Then Cas added, "Michael's victory over Lucifer would be the best case scenario, but it would still come with heavy casualties. I can't even tell you how many angels died in the first war against Lucifer. The deaths ranged in the high thousands, which I know is not much for a human conflict, but for a group of immortal beings, that is an extremely high number." He broke off for a moment, grimacing. "I just- Believe me when I say that I speak from personal experience, and we do not want a repeat of that war." And all of a sudden, the resemblance to the human guy that Dean had fallen in love with was so much harder to see. Cas had fought in an angel war. Against Lucifer. What the hell was Dean supposed to think about that?

"Yeah, I bet," Sam said dryly, then shook his head. "Okay, so we've got to find some way to keep Lucifer from breaking free. And on top of that, you've got some angel going around trying to mind control you."

"Naomi," Cas said, his voice low. "She has discovered a way to rewrite the minds of the angels, yes." His face darkened, a scowl appearing on his face. "And she always erases our knowledge of what she's doing, so that she can't be found out."

"Sounds like a bitch," Dean said, keeping his voice light, but Cas immediately shook his head. Okay, so smartass comments weren't appreciated then. Good to know.

"It's not just that, Dean," Cas insisted. "I don't think that you've considered the implications of what she's been doing. Who knows how long she has been rewriting our minds, or how often she has done so." He shook his head again, then reached up, two fingertips barely touching his temples. "Everything that I knew about being an angel could very well be a lie," he said slowly, then looked up, meeting Dean's eyes. "Angels are designed to be obedient. Before I decided to save you, I never knew a single one of my brethren who would ever even think about going against what they had been told to do. It's a part of who were are, written into our wiring." He paused again, and let his hand drop to his lap. "Now, I wonder who created us to be this way, whether we were designed by God or by Naomi." Another pause, and then- "Who are we, even, if Naomi has been changing us for as long as we can remember? And who does that make me?"

Dean swallowed. Okay, so, Dean wasn't usually one for the philosophical shit, but he could see why Cas was getting so upset about that now.

He moved over toward the table. There was a third seat, in between Sam and Cas, so Dean pulled it out and dropped into it. Once he'd done that, though, he wasn't really sure what he was supposed to say to Cas to make it better. So finally, he leaned forward and clasped Cas on the shoulder. "Well," he said, "I guess you have the chance to figure this out. Just, you know, don't let Naomi change you again, and whatever you do now, I guess that's who you are." Okay, so maybe he could get behind this philosophizing stuff. Just a little.

Cas stared Dean in the eye for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. "Yes," he said. "I suppose that that's what I will have to do."

They stayed like that for about ten seconds, until Sam cleared his throat. "So then," he said, looking over at Cas, "you didn't remember any of this while you were traveling with us?"

"Nothing," Cas confirmed, then hesitated, and said, "Well, I suppose that's not entirely accurate. I had flashes of memory sometimes, but never anything useful – certainly never anything that made me believe that I was an angel. But I was able to hear their voices."

"Wait, what?" Dean said.

Cas nodded. "I am sorry, but particularly after you claimed that angels didn't exist, I didn't want to risk telling you and having you throw me back to the streets," he admitted, then frowned and added, "I would have told you, I promise, back at the same time that I came clean about my lack of memories. But you said that I should keep my last secret to myself for the moment."

Yeah, Dean did remember saying that. He'd figured that it wouldn't be fair to force Cas to tell him everything – if he'd done that, then he would've felt like he had to repay the favor, and there was no way that he had been about to tell Cas about selling his soul. Still, though, Dean hadn't realized that his secret had been something like this.

"So you've just been... listening to them talk this whole time?" Sam asked.

Cas turned to him, nodding. "Well, their voices were faint, which made it difficult to understand what they spoke of most of the time. But yes, there were times when I could overhear them quite clearly."

"But, how?" Sam asked.

Cas tilted his head, considering the question. "All angels can communicate with each other using certain electromagnetic frequencies," he said after a moment. "I can go into a full explanation if you wish. In our true forms, angels-"

"Okay, okay," Dean said, quickly, before Cas could get much further. "You can spare us the science lecture, we don't need to get into that right now." And Sam, fucking geek boy that he was, actually looked disappointed for a while, and Dean got the feeling that the first chance Sam got, he was going to be begging Cas to tell him more. For now, though, he didn't say anything to protest, and Dean added, "So then, angels can hear this special angel radio station, or whatever. Got it. So then, why were you still listening to them as a human?"

Cas frowned, tilting his head even more, until he ended up looking completely ridiculous. "I'm not a hundred percent certain," he finally said. "But I know that I am not the first human to be able to communicate with the angels. Some humans possess the latent psychic ability necessary to listen when the angels speak to them. My guess is that the fact that I had once been an angel meant that I also possessed a stronger version of this ability, allowing me to hear the angels even when they didn't wish for me to listen." Then he frowned, and added, "There was a period where something prevented me from hearing their voices. I'm not entirely sure what caused it."

"Huh, that's weird," Dean said, and frowned. "You got a theory?"

Cas paused a moment, then nodded. "Hester was the only angel who knew of my existence, and only an angel could do such a thing. My guess would be that she had tried to prevent me from hearing the voices, though I'm not sure why her attempts at blocking the angels' words wasn't always successful."

Yeah, Dean didn't get that part, either. Still, though, it sounded like as good an explanation as any, and considering everything else that was going on, finding out the exact answer didn't seem quite as urgent as it probably should be. So instead of thinking about it further, he mentally filed that one under "Shit we have to figure out later", then moved on to the newest question on "Shit to figure out right fucking now" list. "So then, you're still hearing the angels right now? What are they saying?"

Cas shook his head. "I don't know," he said, and didn't sound happy. Which, well, no shit, of course he wasn't. "I could hear their voices in the background of my mind when I first woke in the hospital – far clearer than I had ever heard them while I was human, though I was too disoriented to focus on what they were saying." Then his frown deepened, and he added, "I stopped being able to hear them shortly after we were reunited at the library, around the time that I had first seen Hester following us."

Now, Dean was frowning, too. "You think she did something?"

Cas shook his head, but said, "I don't know. Possibly. I would blame Naomi more readily than Hester, though. I doubt that she would allow me to continue listening to her and her angels, now that she knows that I am alive."

"Any idea how to start listening in again?" Sam asked, leaning forward. Dean waited for the answer. Because honest, he had to admit that whatever was going on, it'd be incredibly frickin' useful if Cas could listen in on Naomi.

But Cas just said, "No. I have tried, and it has not worked." He hesitated, then said, "Before... Communicating with my brethren was as simple as speaking – or, even simpler, actually. Angels weren't originally made to speak – we had no reason to do so, when we could already communicate with one another through electromagnetic waves. Language was a thing that we adopted from the humans."

"So, basically this wavelength thing it came easy for you," Dean said. He was pretty sure he'd translated Cas' angel-speak correctly, at least.

"Yes," Cas confirmed with a nod. "But now, I can't feel the frequencies the way that I should be able to."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked, looking like he was torn between interested and worried. This whole time, he'd been looking at Cas like he was some science fair project or a textbook, something new and interesting for Sam to figure out. And honest, Dean might've gotten pissed at that, expect that it was also obvious that Sam was scared more than anything else, and that he wanted to figure this whole thing out more for Cas' sake than his own.

"I don't know," Cas said slowly, then rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand before saying, "All I know is that I'm exhausted, and starving, and my whole body aches from where I collided with that car. These are definitely things that I didn't experience back when I was an angel."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. Dean just raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly – he didn't know what any of this meant, and he sure as fuck didn't know what he was going to say in response. Sam inclined his head just a tiny bit, then turned back to Cas. "So, does that mean you're human again?" Sam asked slowly.

"No," Cas said after just a moment's pause. "No, I don't think I am. Or, if I had never lived as a human, then I probably would have said that yes, I feel completely human. But I've experienced what humanity is like, and no, this doesn't feel the same." He hesitated, biting his lower lip, then said, "I don't know what the difference is, to be honest. My powers are gone. I can't feel my wings, if I even still have them. For all practical purposes, I suppose that you could say that I am human, even if I still possess my grace. But it just... doesn't feel right, I suppose."

Dean frowned. "What are you, then?" he asked. "What happens when an angel loses its batteries?"

"I don't know," Cas said. He blinked down at his hands. "An angel drawing banishing sigils in its own blood- I'm certain that this has never been attempted before. I don't know what happens as a result, or what I am now."

None of them said anything for a moment. Cas continued to stare down at his hands like he'd never seen them before in his life, while Dean sat there, feeling awkward as hell and pretty much like the worst guy ever, to not say anything else. Then he cleared his throat and pulled out his phone. "You said you're hungry, right?" he asked, and stood, heading over to the phone book that was sitting on the kitchen counter. "I'll find someplace that delivers."

Cas smiled slightly. "Thank you, Dean," he said.

"'Course," Dean grunted. There were two new messages from Dad – he must not have noticed the vibrations when he'd been watching Cas face off against Hester – but now, he barely thought twice before exiting out of them, then flipping open the phone book.

* * *

><p>Dean ended up going with a local pizza place that advertised based on it's "super freaky fast delivery", since Cas hadn't eaten any real food in about two days now, so Dean figured the quicker, the better. The ad was right about the delivery speed – it took less than ten minutes for the deliveryman to knock on their door. Turns out it'd been lying when it said that the food was also "freaky good". Honestly, it tasted more like soggy cardboard with cheese, and Dean barely managed to eat half of one before he shoved his plate away. Cas didn't seem to mind, though, of the way he shoveled down piece after piece was any indication.<p>

Briefly, Dean wondered if Cas was supposed to be eating this much – were there any sort of special diet thing that people were supposed to follow when they'd just gotten out of a coma? Shit, Dean honestly didn't have a clue. It hadn't been anything that he'd had to worry about, considering his own miraculous healing. The food didn't seem to be bothering Cas, though, so after a moment, Dean shrugged and figured that it was probably fine.

"So," Sam finally asked, after Cas had started to slow down on the pizza, "how exactly did you become human, then?" Dean immediately turned toward Cas – he wanted to hear this answer, too. Cas had mentioned it earlier, but he hadn't said anything except that it had happened, and this was something that Dean definitely wanted to hear the details about. "Hester, what? She turned you human?"

Cas nodded, and swallowed his mouthful before answering. "Yes. She cut out my grace." And Dean was about to ask what exactly that meant, but Cas must've realized that he was going to, because he was already answering, "An angel's grace is unique to each angel, and works as the source of its power. I guess that the closest equivalent would be a human soul."

Sam nodded slowly. "So then, what happened after she cut out your grace?" Cas immediately looked down, a frown appearing on his face, and Sam quickly said, "Sorry, I just don't exactly understand. Like, you were human?"

"It is alright," Cas assured him quickly, though he continued to frown as he nodded. "Yes," he said. "When an angel loses their grace, they become fully human." He hesitated for another moment.

"What is it?" Dean asked. "Something bothering you? Besides, you know, the Naomi mind control junk, and the fact that you got made into a human in the first place." Sam immediately rolled his eye, sending Dean a bitch glare that made it clear exactly what he thought of Dean's tact. Dean just shrugged. Okay, nobody had ever told him that he was subtle.

If Cas was bothered by the question, though, he didn't show it. Instead, he just turned toward Dean, and inclined his head once. "Yes," he said, his voice low. It took him another moment before he continued. "In most cases, angels take a human vessel – that is, a human allows their body to be possessed so that the angel can take control. It is the only way that angels can walk on Earth. Our true forms are too powerful for humans to comprehend, as Sam can attest to." He nodded toward Sam once, then turned back toward Dean, watching his face carefully, like he was waiting for a reaction.

And he definitely got one. It took a moment for the words to catch up to Dean's mind and start making sense, but Cas definitely got his reaction. "Wait," he said suddenly, rearing back, eyes widening and he glanced up and down Cas' body. "You're saying that this- That you're possessing-"

"No," Cas said, and Dean paused for a moment, then relaxed slightly. Okay, that was good. He'd freaked out enough thinking that he'd unknowingly been fucking a married guy. The last thing he needed was to find out that this Jimmy guy had been inside Cas' head this whole time. Not to mention that that would have to suck for Jimmy, too.

"_Angels_ possess human bodies," Cas repeated, putting emphasis on the first word, then waiting like he expected that to have some sort of meaning to Dean. When Dean didn't say anything, he added, "I became human when my grace was removed, meaning that I had a human soul. And a soul is incredibly powerful – a body would never be able to hold more than one."

"Okay," Dean said slowly, drawing out the word. "So what happened to Jimmy, then?"

For a moment, Cas was silent.

"Heaven, I hope," he finally said, his voice quiet enough that Dean could barely make it out. "An angel falling from grace and taking a human vessel- It is essentially the same as that human dying, at least in terms of what happens to the human's soul. Essentially, Jimmy died when I took his body, and now, I am all that remains."

None of them said a word. Then Sam cleared his throat. "So, that's what you meant when you said that you weren't Jimmy Novak."

"Yes, it is exactly what I meant," Cas said. "This may be his body, but I have never been him, and it has been months since he has inhabited it."

And… Okay, Dean got that this had to suck for Jimmy, the real Jimmy, the one that was in Heaven or wherever (and Jesus, Dean still couldn't get used to the idea that Heaven was a real place, not just some perfect fantasy that the religious nutjobs tried to sell you). Getting kicked out of your body like that, completely out of nowhere? That had to suck. But was it fucked up that his first thought was about how frickin' relieved he was?

Cas wasn't Jimmy. Cas wasn't married. That was one huge fuckup that he could erase from his list, at least.

"Anyway," Cas suddenly said, in a voice that made it obvious that he didn't want to talk about Jimmy and longer. "The demons wouldn't have been able to find us if the angels hadn't told them our location. The sigils will prevent that from happening again, so we should be safe for now, but we still need to be careful. If I'm awake, then it's likely that Naomi has recovered from the effects as well, and she will come looking for us."

"Okay, so we try to fly under the radar for a while," Sam said.

Dean couldn't help it – he snorted. "Yeah," he said, "because that always works so well for us."

Sam just glared. "Worth a try, at least."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said. And he would've said anything more, but then Cas yawned. It looked like he was doing his best to hide how tired he way – the same way that he was trying hard to hide the fact that he was barely managing to keep himself upright in his chair – but Dean decided that this was enough. "Alright," he said, getting to his feet and reaching over to grab Cas by the arm and help him up. "Any other questions we have, we can answer them later. You're going to haul your ass to bed right now."

Cas looked like he was going to argue, but then he yawned again. After that, he didn't argue. Instead, he ducked his head and admitted, "Going to bed sounds wonderful, actually."

"Yeah, I bet," Dean said, allowing Cas to lean against his shoulder as they crossed the room.

Sam also got to his feet. "Cas, you said that we should be safe as long as we have our hex bags and the sigils, right?" When Cas nodded, Sam said, "I'm going to head to the library, then. I want to get some research done."

Dean shot him a look. He didn't doubt that Sam actually did want to go look shit up online, just like he always did in reaction to absolutely everything, but Dean knew for a fact that he'd just bought himself a brand new laptop, and he'd been getting good wifi on it earlier that day. There was absolutely no reason why he couldn't do his research here, except that he was obviously giving Cas and Dean some time alone. And honest, Dean didn't know if he should thank him or slap him.

Sam slipped out of the room without saying anything more, and Cas carefully lowered himself to the bed.

"You want to change out of those hospital scrubs?" Dean asked, and made a vague gesture toward the bag that he'd thrown in one of the corners. "Don't have a whole lot of clothes left, and most of them are dirty stuff I managed to dig out of the trunk, but it'd be better than those things."

Cas smiled, but then another yawn split his face, and he shook his head. "Thank you," he said. "Maybe after I wake up."

Dean shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, and started to step away from the bed, but Cas reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"You should lie down beside me," he said, scooting over to make room. "You look as though you could use the rest as much as I could."

Dean couldn't exactly deny that – not in his head, at least. Out loud, he definitely was never going to admit it. "I'm good," he said. "Sammy made me lie down for a nap earlier like a good little boy," he added, rolling his eyes. "I'm fine."

Cas didn't look like he believed that, but at least he refrained from saying so. That was more than Sam ever did, at least. "Alright," he agreed, but still tugged Dean closer to the bed. "Then you should lie down beside me, just because I have been worried about you, and it will be nice to have you here."

And, well, Dean wasn't going to argue with that one. Especially since he had probably been way more freaked out about Cas than Cas had been over him, and definitely for a way longer time.

So he slipped his leather jacket off – the motel was too warm to be wearing it, anyway – and threw it over the back of the nearest chair before he climbed into the bed. He made sure to stay sitting up, his back against the headboard, which was this uncomfortable wooden thing with weird designs carved into the surface, which stuck into his back and made it impossible to get comfortable. Which was a good thing, and helped him to fight the heaviness of his eyes and keep himself from dozing off.

Cas immediately moved closer to Dean, his head on Dean's lap, his cheek pressed against Dean's uninjured leg and his eyes closing immediately. Dean ran one hand through Cas' hair – because, well, it was right there, and Dean liked playing with hair, alright? Besides, it wasn't like Cas was going to tell anyone. He hoped.

Not to mention the fact that Cas was right here, and after spending days worried that Dean was going to lose him one way or another, there was no way in hell that Dean was going to keep his hands to himself now that he finally had the chance to do stuff like this.

"You're going to have to explain to me how you and Sam managed to escape the hellhounds," Cas said, his voice quiet. "I haven't heard of anyone doing so before. I want to hear the full story."

Dean nodded, and brushed Cas' hair out of his face. "Okay," he agreed, then added, "And you're going to have to tell me more about Hester, and becoming human, and all that."

Cas didn't say anything, but he made a noise of agreement, and squirmed closer to Dean, not opening his eyes.

Dean couldn't stop staring at him. He looked exactly the same as he had before this whole mess, was still sleeping in the same position he always did, curled up in a ball and wrapped around Dean. If he tried, he was pretty sure that he could pretend that this was completely normal, that the past three days hadn't happened and that Cas wasn't an angel. Although, he wasn't sure if Cas being an angel was better or worse than Cas not remembering anything. Probably better, Dean figured. But way weirder, though.

The question popped into his head completely out of nowhere, and his brain must've been wired straight to his mouth, because he didn't take the time to think it over before he said, "Hey, Cas? One more thing."

Cas blinked his eyes open, then propped himself up on one elbow, looking up at Dean. "Yes?"

"You said that you got a soul when you became human," Dean said slowly. "So then, what happens after you turned into an angel again? You still have one?"

Cas' face shifted, turning- not wary, exactly. Also not entirely upset. More like some sort of weird combo of the two, the kind that made Dean think that maybe this hadn't been the right question to ask.

"I don't know," Cas said after a moment, then amended, "No, I don't think that I do. Have a soul, I mean." He paused, pushing himself up further, looking up at Dean's eyes. "Does that matter?"

Dean shrugged and shook his head. "Don't think so," he said. "I was just wondering."

And okay, Cas definitely looked nervous now. "Are you certain?" he asked carefully. "Because I don't wish-"

Dean quickly cut him off. "Cas," he said, "trust me, yesterday I wouldn't have said that souls were real. Except in the sense that, y'know, when people die there's sometimes a part of them that sticks behind. But I'm not about to get into that religious morality shit about our souls being the thing that makes us human." Or, sure, he knew that you could sell your soul to a demon, or something like that. Still, though, it always seemed more like a metaphorical thing than an actual, you-literally-own-my-soul-now thing.

"In a sense, though, it is," Cas said. "No other creature has a soul – or, at least, no other creature have a soul in the same way that a human has a soul. Especially not angels."

Dean thought that over for a moment, then shrugged. "Whatever," he said, mostly because he'd seen enough already today that he couldn't imagine or wrap his head around, and there was no reason to add souls to that list. He figured he was better off just ignoring the whole idea. Not that it really seemed to matter one way or the other, anyway. "Just go to sleep," Dean added to Cas. "Sorry I woke you up."

Cas was still frowning, but slowly, he nodded and lowered himself back onto the bed, returning his head to Dean's lap. After that, it was only a couple of minutes before he was passed out and snoring, and then Dean tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out what exactly had just happened to his life.

* * *

><p>For Dean, the next few hours were spent creeping down dark alleys where the walls kept vanishing and reappearing, and he jumped every time he saw a shadow twitch in the corner of his eye. The whole time, he was just waiting for something to come barreling out of the darkness, to tackle him to the ground and rip him to shreds. He was certain that it was going to happen, any second now- It didn't, but he kept waiting- And waiting- The anticipation almost made it worse, until he wanted it to just happen, get it over with, stop making him flinch every time he saw the shadows move or heard some growl appear off in the distance.<p>

He woke with an awful crick in his neck, probably from falling asleep still sitting up in that horrible, uncomfortable bed. Shitty idea that had been, Dean thought, scowling and rubbing the back of his neck to try to loosen up the knots. If he'd been going to sleep anyway, then he might as well have laid down next to Cas. That way his neck at least wouldn't have been killing him now.

It hadn't been the worst dream, though. And sure, it might've left him feeling like his skin was crawling all over, and he still couldn't shake the feeling that some hellhound was still going to hunt him down and rip him open any second, even if he knew that that wasn't gonna happen. But still, he'd gotten some sleep. That was something, at least.

Dean slowly blinked his eyes open, and glanced down at the bed. The space behind him was empty.

"Cas?" Dean called, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and looking around the motel. He didn't bother checking the clock, but based on the fact that it was still light out, he figured that it couldn't have been more than a few hours. Unless he'd somehow slept through the whole night, but he doubted it.

Dean took a step forward, turning in a circle to look around the room, trying to find some sign of him. He couldn't see anything, except for the shadows that kept growing darker by the second, and immediately started writhing, just like they had in his dreams. Dean's skin prickled, and he could feel his hair standing on end, even as he shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to shove the feeling away. "Cas?"

A door opened behind him, and Dean spun around, instinctively reaching for his gun even though he'd pulled it out of his pocket before he'd fallen asleep. As far as he knew, it was still under his pillow, where he wouldn't be able to reach it if he needed it.

He didn't actually need it, though. It wasn't a demon or a hellhound, or any other type of monster. Instead, Cas stepped out of the bathroom, carrying his hospital scrubs, which he tossed into the trashcan. He must've been changing his clothes, because he was wearing Dean's jeans and one of his gray shirts, and was once again in the leather jacket. His face slipped into a frown as he looked at Dean. "Are you alright?"

"What? Yeah," Dean said quickly, hunching his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck again, to try and hide how stupid he felt over getting paranoid and freaking out for no reason, just because Cas had been out of sight for all of two seconds. How idiotic was that, right? "You know that we still got your trench coat, right? It's still in the trunk of the Impala, if you want it."

"Thank you," Cas said, and glanced down at the leather jacket. "Would you like this back?" he asked, already beginning to pull it off. "I didn't mean to take it from you."

Dean shook his head. "No, it's cool," he said. "You can keep it on. I was just letting you know."

"Thank you," Cas repeated, then stepped forward and placing his hand on the back of Dean's neck, his fingers covering Dean's. "I would have tried to move you to a more-comfortable position, but I didn't want to risk waking you up."

Dean cleared his throat, and dropped his hand, though Cas kept his in place, his fingers rubbing small circles on the back of Dean's neck. "It's fine," Dean said with a shrug, then finally glanced toward the clock. "What time is it, anyway?"

It was basically a rhetorical question – no point in telling him the time, considering that Dean was already staring at the clock. Of course, Cas answered, anyway. "It's around seven in the evening, more or less."

Dean nodded. They'd gotten more sleep than he'd thought, then.

Cas removed his fingers from Dean's neck and stepped away, though it was only to cross over to the counter, where the pizza box was still sitting out. "Would you like one?" Cas asked, picking up a piece and holding it out to Dean.

Dean's stomach was growling, but he made a face and shook his head. The pizza hadn't exactly been good the first time, and he couldn't imagine it'd be any less disgusting after having been left out for hours. Cas shrugged and took a bite, though he grimaced afterward, which made Dean think that he'd been right about how edible it actually was, but Cas was either still starving or he didn't want to put it to waste or something like that, because he took another bite.

"You know, you don't actually have to keep eating it," Dean said, crossing over to the table on the other side of the room and sitting on the edge of it, facing Cas. "Seriously, man, we can dump that crap and go get something actually enjoyable."

"Oh, is it distasteful to you, too?" Cas asked, looking down at the slice in his hand with this surprised look on his face.

"Trust me, not even a dog would eat that crap," Dean said.

Cas frowned. "I don't think that-"

"It's an exaggeration, Cas," Dean said, cutting him off before he could get too confused.

"Oh," Cas said, then smiled, and Dean found himself grinning that. "I realized that, of course," Cas said after a moment.

Dean snorted. "'Course you did," he said, and shook his head. "'Cause you're not clueless at all. Can't think of one time when you didn't understand something basic like that."

Cas made a face at him, clearly not appreciating the label, and Dean's grin widened. Okay, so maybe one of the things he'd been missing was winding Cas up like this, mostly because he just looked so damn confused when Dean messed with him, and it was hilarious. Especially with the way that it was clear that Cas was still trying his best not to smile, like he was trying to pretend to be upset and it was taking all his concentration. Frickin' adorable, honestly.

Then Cas glanced at his slice of pizza again, and said, "I hadn't noticed that it wasn't good."

And just like that, Dean got the sense that the fun time was over. "What do you mean?"

Cas considered his answer. "Food tastes different now," he said after a moment. "Of course, I wouldn't know for sure what food would taste like to an angel, as I had never had occasion to eat before I had become a human, but it isn't the same anymore. It tastes like... molecules, I suppose. Like I can taste the individual ingredients instead of the final product."

"Oh," Dean said, shifting in his seat slightly. "That's... interesting," he finally said.

"Clearly my vessel requires nourishment, though. They usually don't, so this is strange. I just wish it was more enjoyable." Cas frowned at his pizza again, narrowing his eyes at it like it had done him this great, personal wrong and he was plotting revenge, then set the slice onto the counter and pushed it away.

"You could always try some other types of food," Dean suggested. "You know, see if there's something you still like, even if it is all molecules."

Cas nodded. "Yes," he said, "I will have to do that." Then he turned toward Dean, taking a step toward him. Dean took the chance to look him up and down, and he had to say, Cas was looking good. Not just because he looked hot – though Dean had to say, he always had liked the way that Cas looked in his clothes . But he wasn't as pale and shaky as he had been that afternoon, and definitely looked a lot steadier on his feet. He still didn't look a hundred percent back to normal, and you could see it in the way that he moved that he was still hurting. But still, he was healing up way faster than Dean would've thought possible. Maybe it was an angel thing.

"You don't like to talk about this," Cas said. "The fact that I'm an angel."

Again, Dean found himself shifting, though he noticed what he was doing in time to make himself stop. He was pretty sure that Cas still noticed, though. "What makes you think that?"

"Dean," Cas said simply, then waited.

Dean waited, too, hoping that if they just sat there long enough, Cas would give in and just drop the subject. Except that Dean had been forgetting that Cas was apparently the king of patience, and he had the weird ability to stand completely still, not even twitching for insanely long periods of time. And if he did it enough, it became super creepy, no matter how much Dean liked to stare at him.

Dean let out a long rush of breath. "Okay, fine," he said. "It's weird, alright? Excuse me if it's taking me a little time to adjust."

Cas' forehead crumpled, and he opened his mouth.

"Oh, no," Dean said, and held up one hand, practically shoving his palm over Cas mouth. "We're not going to overanalyze this, okay? I'm working this out. We're not gonna talk about it." They had enough to worry about already; the last thing he needed was to go around waving his issues everywhere, or to make Cas feel like shit because Dean still didn't know how to deal.

Cas definitely looked unhappy about it, but he did nod. "Alright," he said, after reaching up to remove Dean's hand from his mouth. "But I am going to ask you about how you are, and about what happened after I had been taken away."

Dean tensed. Of course Cas was going to be asking these things. He should've seen it coming, honestly. "I'm good."

Cas studied him for a moment. "No, you're not," he finally said. "And I want to hear the full story." Dean started to shake his head again, but then Cas reached forward and closed his hand around Dean's wrist, giving it a small squeeze. "Please, Dean," he said, and after that, well, Dean couldn't really argue after that.

The first part was easy. Sam hauling him into the bathroom, jumping out the window together, the mad race for the car and the decision to go to Bobby's place- Easy. He could ramble off the details with no thought at all, though it did make him feel a little shitty to see the fear and worry cover Cas' face when he described how he'd gotten his leg bitten. Not that Dean had wanted to get turned into a hellhound chew toy, but still, it kinda made him feel like he should've done a better job of not getting caught, just so that he wouldn't have had to tell Cas this part of the story.

Still, though, that all passed fast. It was after that that things got hairy.

"Sam did the spell, and it didn't work," Dean said, then cut off his story to ask, "Any idea why that was?"

"There could be a few different reasons," Cas said after a second's thought. "It's possible that the spell was designed to use on humans, and it couldn't detect me because of my grace. Or, time moves differently in Heaven than on Earth. It's possible that I was in Heaven at the time that Sam was performing the spell, which would explain why you couldn't detect my location."

Okay, that made sense, and honestly, Dean didn't really care enough to wanna know which explanation it was – though he probably should try to find it out, just in case he and Cas ever got separated again, and he wanted to try that spell to find him again. But that'd be something that they could deal with later. No point in worrying about it right this second.

So he was about to continue with how Sam had found the article about him being found, but he was stopped by the look on Cas' face. His mouth was open, this look of horror growing on his face, which instantly made Dean tense, wondering what the fuck could be going wrong now. He waited a moment, expecting Cas to say something, but Cas kept silent, and he had a distant look in his eyes, like he was off in his mind and not even looking at Dean at all, and Dean didn't have the patients to wait for him to come back into reality. "Cas," he said, then snapped his fingers in front of Cas' face. "You still with us? Got something you wanna share, buddy?"

Cas blinked, and then his eyes refocused on Dean's face with startling intensity, like he was trying to stare right into Dean's soul or something – which, honestly, was probably pretty fucking accurate.

"I know that I don't always think of these things until you point them out to me," Cas said slowly, "but I'm realizing that there are a striking number of similarities between what happened when I was taken by Naomi, and the time that we were hunting the shapeshifters and I had been kidnapped by Felicity."

Dean swallowed. He hadn't made that connection – hadn't even thought about Felicity since right after he'd ganked her, other than to curse that bitch every once in a while. But now that Cas put it like that, yeah, he could see the resemblance.

He was expecting Cas' next words a second before he said them.

"Dean," Cas said, his voice grave. Dean glanced away, but Cas lifted his hand to the side of Dean's face, turning it back to look at him. "Did you believe that I was dead?"

Dean didn't respond, mostly because he knew that he didn't actually need to. Cas might've been phrasing it as a question, but they both knew that it wasn't one, that Cas already had figured out the answer.

"I'm sorry," Cas said after a moment. He dropped his hand from Dean's face so that he could run his hand through his hair instead, pushing it up and making it look even messier than it already was, until it was practically standing on end.

Dean cleared his throat. "Wasn't exactly your fault," he grunted.

Cas nodded once, acknowledging that, then said, "But still, I had promised you that I would not allow you to think that I was dead again. Apparently I was unable to keep it."

Dean frowned. Now that Cas mentioned it, Dean did remember something those lines – Dean being all freaked out and practically shouting at Cas to not do this again, and Cas looking confused but immediately agreeing anyway. "Yeah, well," Dean said, and shrugged. "Never really expected you to keep it."

Cas didn't exactly look reassured. "I had promised that I wouldn't' make you believe I was dead without reason," Cas said slowly. "The fact that you expected that promise to be broken is almost more concerning than the fact that it took me less than a month to break it."

Dean snorted again, without the humor this time. "Yeah, well, that's life," he said, then amended, "Our lives, at least."

Cas made some sort of noise of agreement, still not looking happy, and took a half step closer, until his legs were pressed against Dean's knees. "Still, though, I'm sorry," he said again. "For scaring you. And for the fact that I'm not going to make the promise again, because by now I think we've learned that there is no way to be sure that I'll keep it."

"Just do your best," Dean said.

Cas nodded. "That, I can promise," he said. "Whether my best will be good enough-" Didn't continue, and didn't need to. Instead, he leaned closer, and Dean moved forward, doing the same, his eyes already closing. Then Cas stopped, their faces still about an inch apart. "You want to do this, don't you?" he asked, his voice barely audible, but Dean just barely made it out. "It is alright if I do this?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Dean asked, though he had to admit, he was still trying to work out exactly what the answer was.

"Your discomfort with me being an angel," Cas said, drawing back slightly. "I wasn't sure exactly which areas that extends into."

Dean grimaced. Yeah, he wasn't too sure about that, either, but he'd be damned if he was going to let that get in the way of anything, so he just reached forward and hooked his fingers under the collar of Cas' shirt, and pulled him forward the last few inches.

The kiss was awesome, just like kissing Cas always was. But in a different way this time. Part of it was because Dean had been dying to do this, grab Cas and reassure himself that the guy was okay. He liked having Cas right there under his hands, so that Dean could close his eyes and still not have to worry about Cas disappearing again, because he had his hands flat against Cas' back, and he could feel the muscles shifting, and could remind himself that Cas was right here.

But the other thing that was different was the way that it made him think, like his mind had suddenly been cleared and everything was making more sense than it had a second ago. Which was the exact opposite of what kissing Cas usually did – most of the times, he ended up reaching the point where he barely even cared about remembering his own name, which was exactly how he liked it. But the way that Cas was moving was exactly the same as what Dean remembered, and suddenly, the fact that he was an angel didn't seem to make as much of a difference, and Dean could feel all of the tension draining away, 'til it was just him and Cas. Different, but the same as they'd always been.

And having this kind of epiphany in the middle of a frickin' kiss was cheesy as hell, but oh fucking well, it wasn't like he had planned it this way. He'd take what he could get.

Cas was the one to break the kiss, and by this point, they were both out of breath. Cas stared at Dean like he was preparing to say something, or like he was searching for something, or maybe like he just felt like staring – with Cas, who knew? But Dean was staring right back, and he got the feeling that this was supposed to be super awkward, but it wasn't.

Even so, long silences weren't exactly his thing, so after a moment, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a grin, and he said, "So, you said that you can taste the individual molecules and shit, right?"

"I have no desire to taste shit," Cas said at once, "but yes."

He said it completely blank faced, and for a second, Dean just stared at him. "Dude," he finally said, his grin slowly widening. "Did you just seriously make a joke?" he asked. "On purpose?"

Cas nodded. "I do that sometimes, you know," he said, and Dean couldn't help it – he laughed, which only served to make Cas look like he was torn between being annoyed and super proud with himself, and the face he ended up making just made Dean want to laugh more. "You had been asking me a question," he reminded Dean. "About the way that I perceive taste."

"Right," Dean said, and kept grinning. "So, if you keep tasting all the individual parts or whatever," he paused, and raised his eyebrows, "how does my mouth taste, then?"

And Cas had clearly been spending too much time with Sam, at least based on the bitch face that he gave Dean. "I should have known that that would be the direction that your mind would take."

Dean just shrugged, raising his eyebrows even more, and spreading his hands. "It's a good question," he said. "I mean, I was just wondering. And what about other places? How do you think I'd taste when-"

"We still have other important things to talk about," Cas said quickly, giving Dean another one of the bitch looks for good measure. It was a watered-down version of what Sammy could dish out, though, so Dean didn't pay all that much attention to it.

"Seriously, do we have to do this now?" Dean asked. "We were actually having a moment there. A moment that didn't completely suck. Can't we just treasure this for a bit?"

Cas smiled, but he said, "I know you, Dean. If I don't ask you now, then I know that you're going to use it as an excuse to never say anything."

Couldn't fault that logic, even if it was kind of the exact reason why Dean wanted to put off the subject for a while more. Still, though, Cas looked like he wasn't going to be distracted – though Dean was tempted to just grab and kiss him again, just to see if it would work – so he said, "Okay, fine. What's question number one?"

"Are you doing okay?" Cas asked. And Dean started to scoff and throw out a flippant answer, but Cas cut him off. "I know that if I make the question so vague, you will use it as an excuse to lie, so allow me to be more specific. I know that hellhounds have a negative effect on the human psyche, particularly when they are hunting for a human whose soul belongs to their master. Have you been suffering any affects since you've been on the run?"

Well, damn. Dean was pretty sure that you were supposed to like it when your partner knew you so well, like it was supposed to be a good thing, but right then, he couldn't really see the appeal. Not if Cas was going to use it to psychoanalyze him like that, and force him into answering these kinds of questions.

Still, though, he was pretty sure that lying would be a dick move on his part. He might've still tried it, except that there was no way that he'd get away with it, not when Cas would just go to double check with Sam the moment that Dean's back was turned. So Dean sighed, but nodded. "Yeah," he said stiffly. "Dreams, mostly. Or, well, nightmares, actually."

"Which would explain why you looked as though you had not slept in days," Cas said, almost musingly, though his voice was still dripping concern.

"Uh, yeah," Dean agreed awkwardly. "That was because I hadn't."

Cas nodded, looking like he was mentally sticking that bit of info away in some filing cabinet, or whatever he had in that head of his. "What else?" he asked. "You said mostly," he added, before Dean got the chance to even think about denying it. "That implies that something else is happening to you. What else?"

"Hallucinations," Dean said shortly. "Keep seeing things that aren't there, or watch people's faces twist off." And god, he swore that saying this out loud to Cas was worse than it had been when he'd been admitting it to Bobby and Sam. He hadn't known that that was even possible.

"Hallucinations," Cas repeated, and thought for a moment before he spoke. "When we were confronted by Hester earlier, there was a time when you began to panic worse than you had been before, seemingly for no reason. Was that at all related to the hallucinations?"

Oh, Christ, did Cas really have to bring that up? It'd been embarrassing enough to live through it, without Cas trying to make him go over it again. "Yeah," he sad shortly, making a face over having to admit that he'd gotten himself all worked up over something that wasn't real. Real smart of him, right there.

Cas nodded slowly, obviously considering this. "And now?" he asked. "Are you seeing anything now?"

Dean glanced around the motel room, just to make sure, but he already knew the answer. "No, not right now," he said. The shapes had been crawling around when he'd first woken up, but they'd slowly been vanishing from his peripheral vision the longer that he'd been talking to Cas, and by now, he couldn't see any signs that they had ever existed.

Cas nodded again. There was definitely something going on in his head, something that he knew and Dean didn't.

"What?" Dean demanded. "You know something about this? What's causing them?"

"The hellhounds cause them," Cas said at once.

"Yeah, no shit," Dean said, and rolled his eyes. "Any other, not-so-obvious observations you want to make."

Cas frowned, and continued, "Hellhounds are creatures of fear – all demons are, at the heart of it, but hellhounds particularly. They prey on people's paranoia to make them see the things that they fear most, or a representation of what they fear most. What do you see, Dean?"

Dean shifted, definitely uncomfortable now, but he answered, anyway. "You and Sam getting tortured, mostly, or turning into monsters," he said with a grimace. "Or, dark shapes, I guess. Stuff in the corner of my eyes."

"Fear of your loved ones being injured, or the fear of the people that you care about turning against you," Cas said immediately. "And a fear of the unknown."

"No, no, no," Dean said quickly. "No way. I wouldn't have told you any of that crap if I'd known that you were going to use it against me like that."

Cas shook his head. "I would hardly call this 'using it against you', as you said. Not when I'm doing this mainly for your benefit," he said, then added, "Besides, you're acting as if this was anything new. I already knew what you would be most afraid of."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Cas said, and then, since it was Cas, of course he had to keep talking and make Dean sorry that he had even asked. "You value the people around you above anything else, so of course losing them one way or another would also be your greatest fear. And you are the most self-sufficient man I've ever known, and I realize that my experiences are limited, so that may not be saying much, but it is still true. I imagine that you would be able to take on anything or any kind of monster, so long as you knew how to kill it. Which is why you would fear the things that you cannot define." Cas shook his head, not like he was dismissing Dean's fears or anything like that, almost more like he couldn't believe that he had to explain all of this to Dean. "It was obvious just from observing you. I'm sure that you could say the same for me, if you wished."

Well, yeah, Dean knew what Cas was afraid of. Definitely some fear of things he didn't know in there – pretty obvious, considering how long he hadn't even known who he was. But there were some other, more important fears, too. Like a fear of letting people down – or maybe it'd be better to say that he looked like he was scared of not being useful, like other people wouldn't have a reason to keep him around. Dean had figured that one out way back when they'd first met, what with the way that Cas had looked whenever the idea of sending him to the Roadhouse had been mentioned. God, it had made Dean feel like an asshole to even mention it, even though he'd only just met Cas, and even if he hadn't wanted to invite some random guy to hang around during the last couple months that Dean had to spend with Sammy before his one-way trip to Hell.

So okay, maybe it wasn't too surprising that Cas knew this kind of stuff about Dean, too. Didn't mean that Dean wanted to talk about it, though. "We can stow the mushy-gushy crap, though," he said. "We don't need to get into some therapy session about our biggest fears and emotional wounds. What I'm more interested in is, you said that the hounds prey on paranoia, right?" Cas nodded, and Dean scowled. "So what, that means that I'm just making this up in my head?"

Cas tilted his head slightly. "In a way, I suppose so," he said. "I'd imagine that the hellhounds affect on you would be strongest when you are the most terrified, and it could also explain why you haven't seen hallucinations during times when you're happy and relaxed. Like now, for example."

"So, basically I'm making this up in my head," Dean concluded, and made a face. "Okay, seriously? That fucking blows." Bad enough that he had to deal with the hallucinations hitting him at the worst times. Now, he was apparently the one causing them with his own freaking out, meaning that he couldn't even blame it on the demons. Any panic attacks he got his with, they were all his own fault.

Yeah, that was just frickin' perfect.

Not to mention that it meant that everyone was going to be able to tell exactly when he was acting like a scaredy-cat. Whenever they saw him having the hallucinations, they'd know exactly what was happening, and why. So this just kept getting better and better.

"Dean," Cas said, the concern in his voice suddenly getting way stronger, and definitely grating against Dean's nerves. "What is worrying you?"

That was when Dean's phone rang. So, awesome timing there. Or, Cas would say that it was bad timing, but whatever, Dean was feeling pretty relieved.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the way that Cas was frowning, and checked the caller ID. He'd been expecting Sam, or Dad, or even Bobby or Ash. Instead, it was a random number, one that he didn't recognize at first.

"Who is it?" Cas asked, his frown lessening as curiosity won out against it.

Dean was just about to say that he didn't have a clue, but then, it all snapped in place. The number looked familiar, and now, he suddenly knew why that was. He'd seen that number before, just a few hours ago.

"Dean?" Cas prompted.

Slowly, Dean lifted his head to look at Cas. "Dude," he said quietly, "Jimmy's wife is calling."


	31. Part 2 Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

"Don't answer it," Cas said at once, almost before the words were fully out of Dean's mouth.

Okay, Dean could definitely get behind that plan. It was exactly the kind of thing that he would've come up with, actually. But he could feel something tugging on his conscious, this annoying little voice trying to tell him to do the right thing and blah blah blah, and it was enough to make Dean pause. "As much as I hate to say it," Dean said slowly, "you did disappear from the hospital after being in a coma for two days, and she does think that you're her husband. Shouldn't we talk to her about this, say something?"

"Do you want to talk to her?"

"Not really," Dean said, "but I will." He still didn't feel all that comfortable with the idea, but he wasn't dreading it the way that he had been earlier. It was kinda amazing how much less he disliked her now that he knew that Cas wasn't actually married to her. It was more like he could feel bad for her for losing her husband without feeling so guilty about stealing him, and he didn't have to worry about Cas leaving him to go back to her, because the two of them had never actually been together. And it was selfish of him – he knew it – but there it was.

The phone was still ringing. Dean figured that it would go for another couple rings at most, meaning that they had to decide now whether or not to pick it up.

"The problem is," Cas said slowly, looking down at his body, "I'm not her husband, even if I appear to be him. I have never been her husband." A pause, then he said, "What she wants is something that I can never give to her. I'm not sure what I can say to someone from which I have already stolen so much. But yes, if you think that you can say something comforting, then you should answer her call."

Dean was pretty sure that he should do it. He even lifted the phone, ready to flip it open and stick it against his ear. But Cas was staring down at his feet, shoulders hunched and hands shoved into his pockets, looking like he was trying to make himself small, tension written into every line of his body.

Dean glanced at the phone again, then set it onto the table beside him. It rang once more, then went silent.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. "You weren't the one who took his body. I mean, Hester ripped out your grace and stuck your soul into someone else's body, right? That had nothing to do with you. That means that you're free of the blame on this one."

"In theory, yes," Cas said, and shook his head. "That doesn't change the fact that I am inhabiting the body of a man who had a wife and daughter, and a life that was taken from him. It doesn't mean that Amelia and Claire will suffer less over the fact that Jimmy is gone, and I likely made the situation worse by being admitted to the hospital, and giving them hope that the man they loved had returned." Cas was silent, but Dean could practically see some other thought swirling around in Cas' mind. And whatever this one was, Dean got the sense that it was going to be the most important thing Cas had to say, at least in Cas' opinion. Which was why he was quiet, and just waited. Which was damn hard, since he mostly just wanted to urge Cas to hurry up, but he managed.

And finally, Cas did say it. "It doesn't change the fact that Jimmy never had a choice."

Yup, that was definitely the thing that was bothering Cas the most. Dean could tell it by the way he spoke the words – quietly, but also with some sadness and bitterness and anger all swirling around. The only thing that Dean wasn't sure about was why. "What exactly do you mean?"

Cas looked up, his eyes meeting Dean's, his voice suddenly turning much fiercer. "This is the thing that makes us different than demons, Dean," he said. "Demons take whoever they wish as a vessel, but angels require consent. I have taken vessels before, sometimes for years. I had inhabited Jimmy's grandfather for several years, even. But every time, my vessel has given consent. I would never take someone who wasn't willing." Another pause, then, "If I took Jimmy's life away from him and stole his body, than that makes me no better than the demons, Dean. And that is something that I am not able to deal with."

For a moment, Dean couldn't think of anything to say.

Then he scowled, and grabbed Cas by the arms, fingers wrapping tight. "Okay, you're going to need to stop with that bullshit."

Cas blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Feeling guilty over something that you can't control," Dean said. "Because yeah, I feel sorry for the guy, okay? I'm sure he didn't deserve to have someone take his body like this, and I'm sure it sucks for him. But seriously? Calling yourself the same as a demon?"

"Free choice is the most important thing, Dean," Cas insisted. "And Jimmy didn't-"

"Yeah, like I just told you, I freakin' know that," Dean said. Cas was still frowning, not looking convinced, so Dean added, "You didn't exactly get a free choice, either, you know. You never asked to get turned into a human, or to get stuck into someone's body and have to deal with all of this guilt that keeps building up because of that. If you're going to be so worried about free will, then you should at least get upset on your own behalf, too."

Cas opened his mouth, then closed it. "I hadn't thought of it like that," he finally said.

"Yeah, well, you should," Dean said.

Cas slowly nodded, then narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You do realize how hypocritical it is for you to be giving me this advice?" he asked. "I am pretty sure that you blame yourself for far more than you need to."

Dean didn't even bother to ask how Cas had known that. Dean was pretty sure that he hadn't done anything to make that particularly obvious, and he definitely hadn't said anything out loud. But he was sure that if he asked, Cas would just say something else about how he paid attention to Dean, and it was obvious because of all these different things that Dean unknowingly did, and Dean was pretty sure that he didn't want to know all of that. So he just shrugged. "Just because I don't follow it doesn't mean that you shouldn't."

Cas was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. "Regardless," he said, "it doesn't change the fact that I still feel as though I owe her something. As if I should do something to make up for the fact that this happened, even if it hadn't been my fault."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you about that," Dean said, because he knew those kinds of feelings. They were messy, and didn't do anything to help anybody, but they also weren't anything that you could shake easily.

Cas nodded, not looking surprised. "I had not expected you to tell me anything," Cas said. "It is just how I feel." He lifted his hands slowly, turning them over like he was looking at them for the first time, studying them with this intense look on his face. "I would return Jimmy's body to him if I could," he said after a moment. "That would be one way that I could make amends."

Dean stiffened. "And what happens to you if you do that?" he demanded, voice coming out harsher than he'd intended, but Cas had caught him by surprise. "Where'd you go?"

Cas blinked at Dean, almost like he hadn't even thought of that. Of course he wouldn't have. Stupid idiot. "I'm not sure," Cas said, finally. "I suppose I would have to find some other vessel." But then he frowned, his eyes dropping back down to look at his hands.

"What?" Dean asked, and when Cas didn't answer, Dean reached forward and grabbed him by the arm. "What?"

"I would not wish to stay in that vessel for long, if I did take one," he said finally. "I dislike the idea of taking someone's entire life away from them, so I usually don't possess a vessel for more than a few years at most, and only when they've agreed to some higher purpose. I'm… not sure if I could find a vessel who would consent to simply allowing me to live in their form, for no reason other than I would like to remain with you and Sam for longer."

For a second, Dean didn't say anything.

Then he was grabbing Cas with both hands, pulling him a few steps closer. It's not like Cas had been that far away from Dean, but now, even that distance was gone, meaning that Dean and Cas were only inches apart, at that awkwardly-close distance that Cas seemed to like so much.

Now, though, Cas was frowning, looking more confused that pleased with this turn of events. "Dean?"

"Don't do that," Dean said, and again, he pretty sure he was sounding way too harsh, but he was at the point where he didn't really care. "You're not allowed to go hopping out of Jimmy's body now. You're going to stay put, alright?"

Cas nodded, still looking vaguely confused. "I know," he said. "For one, I'm not sure if I would even be able to leave my vessel, as depleted as my powers are. And even if I could, I wouldn't dare to return to Heaven long enough to find Jimmy's soul, nor would I be powerful enough to raise it in my current state." He looked down again, for just a moment, then added, "I believe that I will have to remain in Jimmy's form, regardless of whether I wish to or not."

"Okay," Dean said, and awkwardly released his hold on Cas' arm. "Fine, then. Awesome."

Dean wasn't holding him now, but Cas didn't back away. Dean hadn't expected him to; Cas didn't have a concept of boundaries. Not that Dean had that many boundaries when it came to Cas – not anymore, at least – but still.

"I also would not leave you," Cas said, in that same intense voice he'd been using pretty much this entire time. "I just promised that, didn't I? I would never leave my vessel if it meant that I couldn't find a way to return to your side." He hesitated, then ducked his head as he added, "I feel as if this makes me incredibly selfish, the fact that I have an excuse to never leave this vessel. If Jimmy's soul remains in Heaven, it means that I never have to worry about returning it to him, and I can remain on Earth, in this form, for however long that you and Sam need me."

Another long pause.

Cas shook his head. "It does sound selfish, doesn't it?" he asked. "Particularly considering the pain that Amelia and Claire have gone through. Honestly, I'm ashamed of myself for thinking it."

"No," Dean said quickly, and cleared his throat. "I was thinking the same thing, actually. It's… nice."

Cas' lips barely turned up into a smile. "Convenient," he said.

"Yeah, that," Dean agreed.

Cas' smile widened, and then he leaned forward to kiss Dean. Dean grabbed him, tangling one hand in Cas' hair and sliding the other one up under the back of Cas' shirt. And this time, he was pretty sure that neither one of them as going to be breaking this kiss any time soon.

* * *

><p>After Cas had revealed that he was an angel and finished telling them all about that, Dean had sort of assumed that he was done with dropping major bombshells. Apparently he'd been wrong.<p>

The three of them were sitting around Sam's motel room the next morning, eating out of the Styrofoam to-go boxes that Dean had basically had to kick Sam's ass to convince him to go out and get that morning. Or, Sam had actually volunteered for breakfast duty. The hard part had been convincing him to go get Dean the bacon and hash browns he'd asked for, instead of going on about egg whites and other weird stuff like that. Finally, though, he'd given in, and Dean was happily digging into his big pile of grease and heart disease, as Sam had named it.

Dean figured he was just jealous, considering that his own breakfast looked like it may have been sculpted out of cardboard. That, and it also looked like it'd actually been organically grown on a farm somewhere, which would be even worse. Give Dean the artificially-processed crap any day.

Cas was sitting next to Dean, staring down at his own food. It was every bit as greasy and delicious as what Dean had ordered for himself, since Cas had put him in charge of buying his food, and Dean had figured that the guy deserved something good in his life right now. He looked like he didn't enjoy it nearly as much as Dean did, considering that he spent half the time staring at it like it was some alien species, and the rest of the time he was picking his eggs into tiny pieces and eating them a bit at a time. Which was what he had been doing right when he suddenly lifted his head and glanced back and forth between Dean and Sam, then said, "We should go and retrieve the Colt."

Sam coughed, and nearly spit out his coffee. Dean was just glad that he hadn't had anything in his mouth right then, otherwise he would've ended up looking just as stupid. Cas, meanwhile, just blinked, looking like he didn't understand what had caused that reaction.

"Wait," Sam said, reaching to grab a napkin to wipe his mouth. "You know where it is?"

"Yes," Cas said with a nod. "I was the one who had taken it from your father." He frowned. "I'm sorry. I had thought that you'd be able to make that connection, considering that I had been the one to heal Dean, and the Colt had vanished at the same time."

"Yeah, because that's so obvious," Dean said dryly, then shook his head. "Why?"

"The gun was necessary to use against Azazel," Cas said. "My plan had been to kill him, so that Dean would once again have his soul back. Obviously it was unsuccessful."

"Well, no shit," Dean said, and frowned. It made sense, more or less. And Cas looked pretty sincere as he said it. Except he'd hesitated for just a little too long before he'd spoken. And also, why would an angel need the Colt? Dean didn't know much about their powers – or, well, he knew almost nothing, actually – but he was pretty sure that they had to have some sort of way to kill a demon besides needing to shoot it with the Colt.

Meaning that Cas was lying about something. Or, at least, there was definitely something that he wasn't saying.

Before Dean got the chance to say anything about that, though, Sam was already asking, "Okay, so, where did you stick the Colt?" Dean frowned, but decided that whatever Cas wasn't saying, Dean's let it go. For now, at least.

"Buried in a graveyard in Wyoming," Cas answered.

Dean blinked. "Okay," he said slowly. "Any particular reason for that, or did you just decide to stick it with the dead bodies for kicks?"

"No, there is an actual reason," Cas assured him. "I will explain it to you."

Dean nodded, but first, he stood and dropped his empty container into the trash. "Well, you should probably explain it on the road," Dean said. It was going to be a long trip to Wyoming, if that was apparently where they were heading next. Odds were that they wouldn't get there until that night, at the earliest – maybe not until the next day, depending on where exactly Cas was sending them. And Sam had already polished off his own breakfast of multigrain crap, and the look of disgust that Cas kept sending his eggs made Dean think that he wouldn't actually be eating anything any time soon, so they may as well get going.

Not to mention the little fact that Cas had escaped from the hospital yesterday, and people were gonna come looking for him soon. Not that Dean expected them to come searching through random motels, so it wasn't like anyone was actually going to find them here. But still, the sooner they got out of Illinois, the better.

The others nodded in agreement, and it only took a couple minutes to gather up their stuff. They still hadn't bought new duffels yet, so the three of them just gathered up armfuls of clothes and stuffed them into the back of the trunk. At some point, they'd have to worry about actually replacing their stuff – especially since Dean had lost some of his favorite shirts when they'd had to run, _not_ that he would ever admit to actually having a favorite shirt – but for now, Dean figured that they could get by with what they had.

He did make a point of grabbing his leather jacket off the end of the bed, where Cas had thrown it the night before. He'd let Cas keep it the day before, but no way was Dean going to be that nice two days in a row.

He doubted that Cas cared, though. The guy made a beeline straight for the trunk of the Impala and grabbed his trench coat, pulling it on with this dopey smile on his face. He looked so happy that it was ridiculous, and Dean smirked at him, not that Cas seemed to notice.

Sam came out of the other motel room then. He was still wearing the same clothes he'd had on yesterday, so he didn't have anything to stick in the car, except for the couple of weapons that he'd grabbed to hide around his room. As he joined them at the car, he took one look between Cas and Dean, then rolled his eyes. "Keep looking at him like that and you're going to give yourself a cavity," he told Dean.

Dean immediately looked away, then scowled. "Shut up," he grumbled.

Sam just laughed, though Dean couldn't help but notice that he looked genuinely happy as he headed toward the driver's seat. He was relaxed in a way that he hadn't been in who-the-fuck-knows-how-long, and okay, that was reason enough for Dean to give him some slack about the comments.

Not good enough reason to let him drive again, though. "Okay, move your ass, Sammy," he said, giving his brother a shove away from the driver's seat. "My car, my driving," he added, reaching over to snag the keys from Sam's hands.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Why, so that you can drive us straight into something that doesn't exist?" Immediately after he said it, his eyes locked on Dean's face, like he was searching for a sign that he had gone too far. Which was annoying as fuck, because Sam didn't usually bother with doing that, and it wasn't like Dean needed Sam to still be babying him.

He didn't mention it, though. Instead, he just snorted. "If you think there's any way in hell I'm going to risk putting a scratch on my baby, then you're stupider than I thought," he said, and elbowed Sam out of the way so that he could slide into his driver's seat, right where he belonged. Sam still looked doubtful, but Dean just rolled his eyes. "Come on, I'm good. I slept last night. I freakin' ate breakfast this morning, and I haven't seen your face get eaten off since yesterday afternoon. I'm not going to turn into an idiot and drive into a tree thinking it's a hellhound or something."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "So, you're saying that you would drive into an actual hellhound if you had the chance?" he asked. "Yeah, Dean, because that gives me so much confidence in your driving."

Dean shook his head. "Just stop being a bitch and get in the car," he said.

"You know," Cas suddenly said, stepping around to stand beside Dean, "I do think that Dean is right about his driving abilities. He does seem much better today than he had been yesterday."

"Ha," Dean said, grinning triumphantly at Sam. "You heard him. Two against one."

Sam rolled his eyes again, but he did circle around to the passenger seat. Dean definitely called that a victory in his book.

"No, no, no," Dean said, as Sam started to climb into the car. Sam paused, glancing at Dean, confused. "Cas can take the passenger seat today," he said. "You're stuck in the back."

Sam scowled. "Seriously, Dean," he asked, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Dean said, "because Cas is actually on my side. Driver's choice. Deal with it, bitch."

"Jerk," Sam shot back immediately, then added, "Sorry, Cas, but that's not happening."

"That is alright," Cas said, and smiled as he climbed into the back seat. "I actually prefer it back here, if that is alright with you."

Dean turned around in his seat to look at him. "Seriously?" he asked. Because it wasn't like the backseat was all that big. Sure, it wasn't tiny or anything, but he knew from experience that it got cramped during the long drives, and that was definitely what they were in for. Of course, it'd be even worse for Sam, since he was a frickin' giant, which was exactly why Dean was trying to stick him back there. Sam'd been way too kind and considerate to him over the past few days. And it'd been nice, sure, but honestly, it was starting to get a little creepy. Some big brother hazing was exactly what they needed to get things back to normal.

Cas, though, just nodded. "I like it like this," he said simply. "All three of us in our proper places. It's nice, isn't it?"

And despite everything, Dean found himself grinning back. "Yeah, I guess it is," he agreed, then turned back around. "Okay, Gigantor, I'll let you ride up front this time."

"Oh yeah, so nice of you," Sam said, voice heavy with sarcasm, as he climbed into his seat and slammed the door.

"Just be glad I'm not tying you up in the trunk," Dean threatened, then switched the car into the reverse and took off.

"You sure you're good to drive?" Sam asked a minute later, as Dean turned out onto the road. "I mean, they might not be affecting you right now, but you don't know when the hallucinations are going to come back, and if we're on the highway when it happens-"

"I'm sure," Dean said shortly.

And that would have been the end of it, except that at the same moment, Cas decided to open his big mouth and say, "We theorized that the hallucinations are a physical manifestation of Dean's fears, brought on by the effect that the Hellhounds have had on him. He seems perfectly happy now, so as long as nothing happens to cause him to become frightened, then we'll be fine."

"Cas," Dean growled under his breath. In the rearview mirror, he saw Cas glance toward him, frowning, his face covered in confusion.

"Was I not supposed to say that?" Cas said, and Dean jerked his head once in the semblance of a nod. Cas' frown deepened. "I'm sorry, Sam, please forget that information. I had forgotten that Dean was embarrassed by the fact that he feels fear just like everyone else."

"Cas," Dean snapped. This time, the guy got the hint and fell silent.

Sam had his head thrown back, laughing. "I'm amazed that you managed to keep so many secrets for this long, Cas," he said. "Honestly."

"People have told me that it is not my strongest suit," Cas agreed after a moment. "I think that I did an admirable job, though."

"Yeah, if something like that could be called admirable," Dean said.

They didn't add anything else after that, just drove down the road in silence. Dean was just about to reach over and turn on the radio when Sam looked over at him. "So," he said slowly. "Your fears, huh? I guess that makes sense, considering when the hallucinations seemed to hit you the worst."

Dean stiffened, and hunched his shoulders, not looking over at Sam. "And?" he asked.

Sam was definitely going to try to start some emotional conversation, about their deepest fears and inner demons and all that shit. Dean knew it. Especially with the touchy-feely, protect-Dean-like-he's-some-frickin'-baby mood that he'd been in ever since he'd found out that the hellhounds were on Dean's tail.

Then Dean felt Sam give him a light punch on the arm, and Sam said, "Good thing we haven't had to fly anywhere, then. God, Cas, you can't even imagine how much of a mess he'd be then."

"Shut up," Dean snapped, reaching over to give Sam a punch back, just a little harder than Sam had hit him. Sam blocked it easily, and laughed, and Dean could feel the tension draining from his shoulders. Okay, so Sam was back to being the obnoxious baby brother that Dean was going to have to beat up as soon as he'd pulled the car to a stop. That was exactly what they were supposed to be.

"You know, we should swing by and visit Missouri Moseley again," Sam added after a moment, and just from the tone of his voice, Dean could imagine the smug little grin on his face. "I swear, last time we saw her, she nearly made Dean shit his pants. I've never seen him look more intimidated. Pretty sure that that would be the best way to really get him terrified."

Cas leaned forward, so that his head was between Dean and Sam's seats. "I don't understand," Cas said, looking over at Sam. "Why would you want Dean's hallucinations to return?"

"Because he's a piece of shit, that's why," Dean said, before Sam got the chance to answer. He glanced over at Sam. "I'm seriously going to kick your ass as soon as we're out of this car."

Sam just crossed his arms. "You can try."

Dean would've made a snappy retort, but the motion had made him notice something. The lines that Cas had drawn across Sam's hand the day before were still there, but starting to fade, just slightly. They'd probably still last for another day or so, and they could always redraw them, but still, if these were the only things keeping them away from the angels, then they'd have to stay on top of them.

"We should go find a tattoo parlor," Dean said, making Sam and Cas frown at him like he was crazy. Dean tapped his own arm to show what he meant. The sigils were covered by his jacket, but still, he thought that they'd get what he meant. "Make sure the angels don't track us down just because he forgot to redraw some lines. Seems like too big of a risk to leave them as temporary."

Sam glanced down at his own hand, and nodded. "Yeah, that's a good point," he said, then glanced over at Dean. "You think we should find a place now?"

Dean shook his head. "Not in this town," he said. Because seriously, the farther that they were from the people who might recognize Cas as the coma guy, the better. "Maybe in an hour or so. We can just find a city and drive 'til we see a place that looks decent." Or a place that didn't look decent – it's not like they'd ever been picky. Though Dean'd really rather get his tattoo from someplace that wasn't going to give him some wicked infection afterward, so they'd better find a place at least somewhat decent.

"I would like to get the anti-possession symbol tattooed as well," Cas added after a moment. "With my diminished grace, I'm not sure if demons would be able to possess my vessel or not, but I would like to be safe, regardless."

"Well, okay, sounds like a plan, then," Dean said, and grinned over at Sam and Cas. "Let's go get ourselves all inked up and pretty."

* * *

><p>Dean perched on a stool over to the side of the shop, fidgeting in his seat and trying not to pick at the bandage now wrapped around his left arm. They'd managed to find a tattoo parlor about an hour's drive from that motel, a tiny place that looked like it didn't see all that much business, but was clean enough that Dean figured they could trust it. There were only two artists in the shop when they got there, meaning that they'd had to take turns. Dean had already gotten his done – and he had to say, it looked pretty badass, with the way that the sigils wrapped around his bicep, he'd always kinda wanted something like that – so now he had nothing to do but wait while Sam took his turn with the same artist, eyes closed as the symbols were drawn across his shoulder blades.<p>

The other artist, meanwhile, had finished up with inking the angel sigils onto Cas' stomach, and had set to work on the anti-possession tattoo, drawing it on the left side of Cas' chest, in the exact same spot where Dean and Sam had theirs.

Meaning that Cas was currently lying shirtless in the chair, and okay, that definitely gave Dean something to do while he waited. And the way that Cas had caught Dean's eyes and smiled made Dean think that Cas was perfectly okay with the staring. Still, though, that didn't stop Dean from fidgeting. It wasn't his fault or anything – more like he just couldn't keep himself still. And if he were being honest, he'd say that he knew why.

It was something that'd been bugging him for days, gnawing at the back of his mind. Except, well, he'd been able to keep it back there, out of his immediate thoughts, telling himself that there wasn't time for this, not with all of the important shit that was going down. Now, though, he was pretty sure that that excuse was gone. And it was driving him crazy.

Finally, he stood and jumped off the stool, heading out the back door. He felt both Sam and Cas' eyes on him as he went, but neither of them moved – not that they really could, considering that they were still only halfway through getting their tattoos done. Good. That meant that Dean would have some time.

There was nobody around the back of the shop – not that he was surprised. It looked about ten times shadier back here than it had up front, but it'd suit Dean's purpose. He took a deep breath, then pulled the phone out of his pocket and dialed the number from memory.

It rang again and again, with no sign that it was ever going to be answered. Dean frowned. Honestly, in hindsight, he hadn't known why he'd expected Dad to pick up the phone, considering all the times that he hadn't.

Except that Dad had been calling him and Sam nonstop for the past few days. That had to mean that he wanted something from them, right? Dean couldn't imagine that Dad would call them up that much, and then not be interested in talking to them when Dean finally returned the call.

The call finally went over to voicemail. Dean listened to his dad's message, then took another long breath, trying to decide what he was going to say.

Then they beep sounded, and he still hadn't decided what to say, but that was too bad, because now he had to start talking whether he wanted to or not.

"Hey, Dad," Dean said slowly. "Sorry I didn't pick up. There's been a lot going on in the past few days. Cas was-" He paused, then shook his head. "Never mind, it doesn't really matter. But we're good now. The three of us are heading to Wyoming – we have a lead that we're going to go check out. So, yeah. You can call back if you want to talk. I'll make sure to answer this time."

He hung up the phone, and for a minute, he didn't move. Just stared down at his phone, like he was expecting Dad to call him back immediately, to apologize and say that he'd barely missed Dean's call, but he was ready to talk now.

It didn't happen. Of course it didn't. Dean was being an idiot even thinking about it.

Dean nodded once to himself, then shoved the phone into his back pocket and took off, walking away from the tattoo parlor as fast as he could.

Five minutes later, he returned, carrying a bottle of coke that he'd bought from the convenience store down the road.

"What?" he asked, in response to the look that Sam gave him. "I was thirsty, so shoot me. You want one, you can go and get your own."

Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean could see the last traces of suspicion disappear. Sam didn't have a single reason to think that Dean leaving had been for any reason but this one.

Dean took a long swig of his drink, and reached down to pat one hand against his phone. It was stupid. There was no reason to keep it a secret. Sam might not be so happy about Dean wanting to call their dad, but he wouldn't argue, anyway. At least, Dean didn't think he would. Still, though, Dean just didn't want to tell him. Some habits died hard, he guessed.


	32. Part 2 Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

By the time that they were back on the road, Dean knew that there was no way that they were going to reach Wyoming before the middle of the night. Not that Dean really had any objection to driving all day – it'd been a while since they'd done a real, nonstop road trip, and he was actually looking forward to doing nothing but driving. Sam was definitely going to bitch about his legs getting stiff, but as far as Dean was concerned, they could do this every day.

Sam wasn't complaining yet, though, and he looked like he wasn't going to start anytime soon. He was way too caught up in talking with Cas. Apparently he'd decided that this was the perfect time for him to turn into geekboy.

It started about five minutes after they'd left the tattoo parlor, when Sam suddenly turned around in his seat. "So," he said, looking straight at Cas. "Angels."

Cas was silent for a few seconds. "Yes?" he finally asked, in that one voice he used when he didn't understand what the fuck Dean and Sam were saying. "Why are you just saying that word?"

Sam shrugged, then said, "It's just, we'd talked about this before, right? About wanting to know what was out there." Another shrug, and he added, "Now you have the answer, and I just want to know more about them."

Now, Cas used the voice that made it obvious that he was smiling. "That's understandable," he said. "What do you wish to know?"

"Everything," Sam said at once, because of course he did.

"I don't think it would be possible to tell you everything," Cas said doubtfully. "Not the least because I myself don't know everything."

Sam shook his head. "It's an exaggeration, Cas."

"Oh," Cas said, and Dean grinned.

"What can you tell me, then?" Sam asked.

"It would depend on what you wish to know," Cas said, "which you still haven't told me. I'm sorry, but your exaggeration wasn't terribly helpful for helping me to make a decision."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Sam suggested.

Dean didn't know what Sam meant by that, exactly. Actually, he wasn't so sure if Sam knew, either, or if he was just throwing out a random suggestion to see what Cas decided to say. Either way, it worked, because Cas began to speak. It was all mythology and history and other shit that Dean didn't give a damn about when it wasn't directly related to a case they were working, and if it'd been anyone else who'd been explaining all of this, Dean would have stopped listening about two seconds after they'd started talking.

Except, for one, this was Cas. But not just that – this was Cas actually talking about stuff that he had, apparently, lived through. The stuff about God declaring war against Lucifer? Cool legend – he could always get behind any story that led to a giant super-powered monster war – but the fact that Cas had been one of the soldiers in it? Completely changed the story.

Not that Cas talked about the actual fighting, or really dwelled on it at all, except to mention that he had lead a garrison of angels into battle (and seriously, how sweet was that?) Most of it was the history stuff – all names and events, boring crap that Dean never bothered with. He kept listening, though, to the stories about Lucifer turning against Heaven, and the creation of the demons, and some dude named Gadreel letting evil into the Garden. (Seriously? Now the Garden of Eden was frickin' real, too?) And Dean had to say, Cas wasn't the best storyteller. Actually, he kinda completely sucked.

Still, though, it was interesting.

Cas finished up the story about Lucifer getting his ass locked up in Hell, then went silent for a moment, cutting off his story abruptly. Dean glanced over his shoulder, and Cas was frowning out the window, definitely brooding over something. "Cas?" Dean asked.

"That is what Naomi and the other angels are trying to bring back," Cas said. Dean had had to turn back around – looking at the road and all that – but he risked another glance. Cas still wasn't looking at him. "All that war, that death and destruction – all of it will happen again, if we don't find a way to stop it. Only it will be worse, because this time, Earth will be completely destroyed."

Okay, well, that was definitely one way to ruin a good mood. "Then we won't let it happen," Dean said. "Easy as that."

He looked back again, in time to see Cas shake his head, though his eyes were still locked on the view out the window. "It will not be so simple," he said. "If they release Lucifer... You cannot even imagine what it would be like, Dean. I will not allow him to return." Cas' voice was fierce, filled with tension, and Dean couldn't help but glance back at him. His whole body was tense, shoulders hunched and hands balled into fists.

"I take it you didn't exactly like the first war?" Dean said.

That was a yes, if the way that Cas' jaw clenched was any indication. "It was not pleasant," Cas said shortly.

Dean hesitated, but finally decided to just ask. "What happened?"

Cas' expression didn't change. It might as well have been made of stone. "Destruction," he said shortly. "Terrible pain and death. You don't wish to imagine it, Dean, and I don't wish to speak of it."

Okay, okay, Dean could understand that. He wouldn't say anything more.

Cas kept going, though. "And it isn't just the destruction of the world," he said, voice still tense, and Dean couldn't help but snort. "Just" the destruction of the world? How exactly could you do more than that?

Apparently there was something that topped that, though, because Cas said, voice still intense, "There are sixty-six seals that must be broken in order to free Lucifer from Hell. I will not allow the first to be broken, Dean, I can promise you that." A pause, then he added, "Of course, those two goals work together. If the first seal is never broken, then Lucifer will never have a chance of rising. So preventing one would be the same as preventing the other."

Dean frowned. "What exactly is this first seal, anyway?" he asked. Because seriously, Cas getting so worked up about this, acting like keeping the first seal from being broken was somehow more important that keeping frickin' Lucifer from rising out of Hell? Definitely didn't make sense.

For a minute, Cas didn't say anything, and then- "I never told you why the angels wanted your soul in Hell, did I?"

Dean frowned, and didn't bother to answer. Instead, he said, "I'm not going to like this answer, am I?"

"Not particularly, no," Cas said.

"'Course not," Dean muttered, and let out a long breath, then said, "Okay, fine, hit me."

He'd expected some confused comment from Cas asking why Dean wanted him to behave so violently – because the second the words were out of Dean's mouth, he realized that Cas probably wasn't going to get the expression. Apparently Cas did understand this one, though. Dean was actually pretty proud of him for that.

"The first seal for releasing Lucifer is that the Righteous Man has to be broken in Hell," Cas said slowly.

"Yeah?" Dean asked after a moment. He used the rearview mirror to check out the intense look on Cas' face again. "What, is that supposed to be me?"

"Yes," Cas said, voice completely solemn. "You are the Righteous Man, Dean. You were the one who was destined to break the first seal. The demons' goal will be to corrupt you, to make you into one of them by convincing you to take up a blade and begin torturing the other souls."

Dean grimaced, but nodded. "Okay, then. So, I gotta start torturing people, and that's how the first seal is going to get broken?" He waited for Cas to nod, then said, "So then I just won't torture anybody. I don't break, Lucifer can never rise. Easy."

In Dean's head, it all made sense. Cas, though, shook his head. "You would be broken, Dean."

Dean snorted. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas," he said. "Glad to know you trust me so much."

Cas scooted even farther forward, moving until he was practically sitting in between Dean and Sam, one hand on the back of each of their seats. "You don't understand, Dean," he insisted, voice low. "I have seen Hell. All of the angels know what happens down there. The atrocities that occur-" His voice broke off, then he took a deep breath. "Everyone breaks, Dean, no matter how strong they might be." Suddenly, his hands tightened on the seats, his whole body going stiff as he said, voice fierce, "And I will never allow that to happen to you. That is one promise that I guarantee that I will keep."

Dean swallowed, and turned to look at Cas. Just for a few seconds – even he wasn't stupid enough to take his eyes off the road for longer than that, no matter what Sam or Cas might say about his driving. But for those couple seconds, Cas stared his straight in the eyes, and it was obvious that he was a hundred percent serious about this one. And Dean figured that actually finding Azazel and ganking him before he got Dean's soul was a long shot at best, even with the hex bags to keep them hidden. But with Cas staring at him like that, Dean couldn't help but believe it.

He cleared his throat, and turned his eyes back to the road. And okay, maybe it'd been more than a few seconds that he'd been staring at Cas. So sue him.

"Thanks," he said, since he couldn't think of anything else.

Cas just nodded once, then settled back into his seat.

The Impala fell into silence. This time, Dean didn't bother thinking about turning on the radio. Call him stupid, but for some reason, he didn't feel like being the one to break it.

"You're not praying any more, are you, Sam?" Cas asked abruptly, after about five minutes had passed in complete silence.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Prayer is a direct link from soul to soul," Cas explained. "It was how the angels realized that I was still alive – they heard my prayers, and came for me, and passed out location to the demons as well. You haven't said any prayers in the past few days, have you, Sam?"

For a moment, Sam looked almost embarrassed, as if not praying were some sort of terrible thing. "No," he said, and shook his head. "I meant to. I just didn't."

"Good," Cas said. "The angel sigils can only do so much. If you open your soul up to the angels in that manner, I would give it less than a second before Naomi would find us, and likely drag me back for reprogramming, as well as guaranteeing that Azazel could finally claim Dean's soul."

Sam stiffened. "Thanks for warning me," he said.

"Of course, not every angel would be able to sense you," Cas continued, "only the ones that you specifically pray to. But then, I can't think of any angels who you would wish to have hear your prayers, so you wouldn't need to pray. And if you just pray to nobody in particular, then the prayer will be opened up to any angel who wished to listen."

"Yeah, no praying," Sam said quickly. "Got it."

Dean frowned. "Hey, Cas, speaking of Azazel," he said, "you know anything about his plan? What he wants with Sam and the others?" He doubted, since that probably would've been near the top of the list of things that Cas would tell them straight off the bat, but he figured that he might as well ask.

Sure enough, though, Cas said, "No, I don't. Or, I know that it's related to the rise of Lucifer, but I don't know the specifics. Actually, I was not supposed to know anything about this at all. I was lucky to uncover what little information I could." A pause, then he said, "I'm sorry, I wish that I could be of more use."

Dean just shrugged. "We'll figure it out," he said, then added, "You know, we did most of this without your super angel knowledge, or whatever. We can do this, too."

"Yes," Cas agreed, but still didn't say anything more.

The car once again fell into silence. This one felt heavy, for some reason, and way more uncomfortable than they usually did.

Then Sam cleared his throat, making Dean and Cas look at him.

"So, angels," he said, turning back around to face Cas again. "What do you guys even _do_? Besides, you know, flying around Heaven and starting apocalypses?"

Dean groaned, preparing himself for an afternoon of Sam's geekery over all things angels, and Cas' rambling history lessons. And sure enough, Cas launched into an explanation of cherubim and seraphim and archangels, and a bunch more classes of angels that Dean hadn't even known frickin' existed, and about all the shit that they did on Earth. Cas was reciting info like he was rambling off his ABCs or something, and didn't sound like he was planning on stopping any time soon. This could be a long drive.

Still, though, he couldn't help but smile as he listened to Cas drone on and on, with Sam nodding enthusiastically and sticking in a question every couple minutes.

And Dean kept listening.

* * *

><p>They rolled into the graveyard late that night – or, early the next morning, technically.<p>

As soon as they'd reached Wyoming, Cas had started giving him directions to get here. Not that directions were actually good for anything, since Cas hadn't exactly had to worry about following the roadways last time he'd been here, considering he'd been flying. Or, "bending the human concept of distance", whatever that meant. That had been one of the only things that Dean hadn't bothered even trying to understand, to be honest.

Anyway, the point was that Cas' directions weren't worth shit, but they'd busted out the maps and managed to find their way eventually, even if they made about a dozen wrong turns that could've been avoided if Cas had bothered to glance at a street sign once in a while. It ended up being four in the morning by the time they pulled through the cemetery gates, and Dean was about ready to collapse in the nearest motel bed he could find – or even the backseat of the Impala would work at this time. He could sleep there, and Cas and Sam could go find their own places to crash; at this time in the morning, no way was Dean going to be nice and share.

Still, though, the one good thing was that nobody else was going to be crazy enough to hang out in a cemetery right then, so it wasn't like they were going to run into anyone here to visit their dearly departed.

"You can park the car here," Cas said, and Dean did, then climbed out of the car, stretching his hands over his head to try to fix his stiff muscles. God, he always forgot how much it made his back hurt to sit still for so frickin' long. Not that he wasn't used to it, and honestly, he kinda liked the long trips, but still. This part wasn't so fun.

"We will need a shovel," Cas said, and Sam popped the trunk to grab one, then nodded at Cas, holding the shovel in one hand, propped against his shoulder. "It is this way," Cas continued, gesturing off the dirt path, through the maze of tombstones. "I thought that it seemed disrespectful to hide the Colt anywhere that would disturb the bodies. However, there is an area near the center of the graveyard in which no bodies are buried, and I thought that it seemed to be a fitting place."

Dean nodded and made a gesture for Cas to lead the way, and the three of them started walking. After so many hours of not moving, Dean's legs – especially the injured one, which was waking way too freakin' long to heal, in Dean's opinion – were protesting to the movement, and he ended up limping a little, but he'd deal. Lucky he was making up the rear of the group, so neither Cas nor Sam seemed to notice.

The cemetery was a little creepy at night, Dean had to admit. And that wasn't normally something that he thought. He and Sam didn't get freaked over a dark graveyard – they'd spent way too many nights in places like this for it to even bother them anymore. But still, this place was making his skin crawl, and he couldn't tell why, except that he couldn't stop himself from imaging that demons were going to start popping up from behind the tombstones any second. Which was completely stupid, especially since Cas had explained why that definitely couldn't happen. Samuel Colt, the five churches, and the railway tracks that connected them in a giant pentagram. For some reason, Samuel Colt hadn't wanted any demons to be able to reach this place. Cas hadn't known why, but he figured that the giant devil's trap still made it into the safest place to stick the gun, which was why Cas had made a beeline for this cemetery in the first place.

So yeah, no way were any demons going to be crashing the party. Didn't mean that Dean could keep himself from imagining them, though. He just hoped that this frickin' paranoia wasn't some fun new symptom of the Hellhounds chasing his ass, because that would just be delightful.

There was a crypt in the exact center of the graveyard – or, it looked like it was the exact center, not that Dean was going to measure. And the graves all surrounded it, but Cas was right, there was a circle of bare dirt about ten feet wide, where it didn't look like anyone had ever been buried.

"Here," Cas said, gesturing to the area right by his feet. Sam nodded, and stabbed the shovel into the dirt, burying it halfway to the handle. "The Colt is buried deep, but the hole will not have to be wide. It shouldn't take us long to finish the digging."

"Deep," Sam repeated. "Great." He shook his head, and dug up the first shovelful of dirt. "I'll take first shift, and we can rotate off."

"Sounds good," Dean said, since if Sam was offering to do the digging first, there was no way that Dean was going to complain. Instead, he moved over and sat a few feet off, leaning his back against the crypt. The thing was ramshackled to the extreme, looking like it was barely holding itself up, and Dean half expected his weight to send it tumbling back completely the moment he even touched the thing. It seemed solid under his back, though, so he figured it was good.

He settled back against the crypt, arms crossed over his chest. A second later, Cas joined him, though he frowned at the crypt for a moment before scooting forward so that his back wasn't actually touching it. Dean glanced at him for a moment, then tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He wasn't entirely sure what Cas' idea of "deep" was, but he was pretty sure that they were going to be at this for a while.

* * *

><p>He'd been right. Digging the hole did take way longer than Cas had made it seem like it would. Especially since the hole had to be wide enough that they could actually get down in there and dig, with enough room to actually move their arms and lift the shovel. Still, wasn't quite as bad as digging a grave. Barely.<p>

They usually got to sleep before the grave digging, though, so that would be one thing in its favor.

The sky was bright now, bright enough that Dean was starting to worry that they might have to worry about early-morning family members coming here to see some tombstone and ending up spotting the three of them digging this frickin' hole to China in the middle of the cemetery. Though he had to say, he was pretty sure that if there was even one person who cared about this place, it wouldn't look nearly this overgrown and shitty. Meaning that they were probably safe.

All evening, they'd been taking turns with who shoveled. At that moment, Sam was the one who was on duty – he'd been the one doing most of the digging, actually. It was their usual agreement; when one of them was hurt, the other had to cover the slack. And neither of them had ever liked being referred to as "the slack" – Dean maintained that he was ten times the hunter Sammy was, injured or not – neither of them was above taking advantage of it to get the other to carry their bags, or take on the extra manual labor.

Cas, apparently, hadn't liked the idea of not doing his fair share. Dude was weird like that. So he'd been trying to dig, which hadn't exactly gone well. The first couple turns he took had gone fine. After that, though, Dean could see it getting to him. Pale face, shaking hands, heavy breathing – the works. He'd basically been forced to take a break. Which he'd bitched about, of course, but for all of his complaining, he looked like he would barely be able to lift the shovel now, let alone handle the actual digging. He'd removed his trench coat when he'd started the digging, to keep it from getting dirty, but now he had it draped over his shoulders again, though he hadn't bothered to pull his arms through the sleeves. His eyes were closed, and he slumped back against the crypt that he hadn't even wanted to touch earlier.

Or, Dean thought that Cas was passed out, up until the moment that he suddenly said, "I was not entirely honest to you earlier."

Dean glanced over at him, and shook his head. "Seriously?" he asked. "It's got to be seven in the morning by now, and we're still trying to dig up some magic gun that's going to help me kill the demon who's coming after my soul. Not to mention that none of us have slept all night. You think is the best time for another heart-to-heart?"

Cas frowned. "No, you're right, I'm sorry," he said. "You may rest. We can discuss this later."

Dean tried to let it go at that, but he barely made it ten second before he let out a long breath. "No, now you've just made me curious. So come on, spit it out."

Cas nodded, but still waited a moment before speaking. "I did not do it out of malice, or because I intended to lie to you forever. But I knew that this may be a painful subject for you, and I wanted to wait to find a better time to speak to you about it."

"And again," Dean said, "you decided that now would be the best time? Really?" Cas' frown deepened, and Dean quickly added, "Just come on. I wanna hear this now."

Cas was still looking upset – at himself, Dean thought – but he nodded. "It relates to your father," he warned.

Dean stiffened, his hands clenching into fists, but he jerked his head into a single nod. "I'm listening," he said. And so was Sam, based on the way that he kept glancing in their direction. And not to mention the fact that he was only about five feet away. It'd be kinda hard for him to not overhear this one. Though, if it was about Dad, then that meant that Sam probably had as much reason to listen as Dean did – even if Sam was the one who was more likely to end up pissed by the time that this was over.

"You remember what Sam said, about how your father had still been focusing on killing Azazel, even while you were dying?" Cas asked.

Dean's hands clenched into fists. "Yeah, I remember that," he said dryly, though his voice was tight. "Wasn't exactly something I'd forget, was it?"

Cas just nodded, and turned to look Dean in the eye. "I thought that I should tell you that that wasn't what actually happened."

Out of all the things that Dean had expected Cas to say, that was pretty much at the bottom of the list. "What?"

Cas nodded again, still watching Dean's face closely. "It was the opposite, actually," Cas said, and from the way he was speaking, it was obvious that he was choosing his words carefully. Dean'd rather he just hurry the fuck up and come out with it, honestly. And maybe Cas realized that, because he took a deep breath, then said, "Your father had intended on summoning Azazel in order to trade the Colt – and most likely his life – for your recovery."

Dean froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Sam had stopped digging, too. It was hard to tell, considering that the top of Sam's head was just barely visible by now, but Dean saw the movement pause.

"How do you know?" Dean demanded, his voice coming out harsh and angry, which made Cas frown, though he looked more worried than anything else.

"The angels all knew what his intentions were," Cas said simply. "It wasn't a secret in Heaven."

Right. Because angels would know these things. Of course they would. Dean shook his head – he didn't even know why he asked.

Actually, no, scratch that, he knew exactly why he had asked. Because he'd had to be sure, to be absolutely positive that Cas actually knew what he was talking about. Even if Dean wasn't sure whether he should be hoping that Cas was right or wrong about this one.

Dean took a deep breath. "Thanks for telling me," he said, then pushed himself to his feet. He could practically feel Cas frowning after him, and Sam had the same worried looked on his face as Cas, though his looked a hell of a lot more dumbstruck and shocked.

"Dean," Sam said, or started to say.

Dean shook his head, and reached down to grab the shovel from Sam's hands. "My turn," he said.

Oh, fucking fantastic, now Sam was looking more worried than ever. As if Dean hadn't already had to deal with that enough. As if he hadn't just gotten Sam to stop treating him like he was going to burst into tears any second. "You sure?" Sam asked.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "I said it's my turn."

"Right." Sam nodded, and let Dean have the shovel, then hauled himself up and out of the hole. Dean hopped in, and started digging away, flinging the dirt up and out of the hole as fast as he could.

He was glad. Or, relieved, maybe- shit, he didn't know. The point was, this almost felt like a good thing, the fact that Dad hadn't been about to let him die to kill Azazel. It was a good thing. He was pretty sure he should see it that way, at least.

But even just thinking about Dad making that deal-

Dad, getting dragged down to Hell in Dean's place-

Dad in Hell, period-

Well, fuck, maybe Dean should've given Sam more sympathy after he'd first told his brother that he'd sold his soul. Dad hadn't even gone through with it, and Dean felt like he was going to be sick. Obviously the solution here was to focus on digging as deep as he could get, and not think about this at all.

Sam clearly wasn't going to make this easier on him, because he cleared his throat, then asked Cas, "Is that why you took the Colt?"

And Dean very deliberately didn't look over at the two of them, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the dirt in front of him, but he couldn't help but see Cas nod out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't think that the Colt would be safe with him," Cas admitted slowly. "If the demons had nearly convinced him to sell the Colt once, I was afraid that they would do it again. And I knew that the very fact that the demons wanted it so badly was enough reason to ensure that it was kept from them."

Sam was silent for a second, then finally said, "Yeah, I guess that does make sense." And from the way he was talking, it was obvious that Sam was confused out of his mind, like he was reevaluating everything he'd known. Kid sounded like he was five years old again, and that asshole classmate of his had just told him that Santa wasn't real. Either way, Dean was pretty sure that Sam was going over every conversation they'd ever had with their dad, trying to see it in context with this, picturing it a whole different way now that he knew that John had been willing to sacrifice himself like that. Or, at least, that was what Dean was doing.

Dean flung out another shovelful or dirt, and another, and another. He was digging like a champ now. At this rate, maybe they would actually get done soon enough that they wouldn't run the risk of someone coming here early and seeing them. Honest, it was all muscle memory at this point. He barely even noticed that he was still digging.

The really fucked up part? Dean almost felt more betrayed now than he had when Sam had first told him that Dad had tried to chose killing Azazel over saving Dean. It didn't make sense, and yeah, he knew it. Didn't matter. Dean had gotten used to thinking of it like that – it even made it easier when Dad had kicked the three of them out, because if Dean could be pissed at Dad, then it didn't hurt so much. And yeah, he'd still felt like a terrible piece-of-shit son for not sticking with Dad no matter what, and the pissed off feelings only made the guilt worse, but at least he could tell himself he had a reason to be upset, and try to convince himself to believe it. Having that stripped away? God, it hurt.

And the phone calls? Dean had sort of started up a mantra in his head, almost. _Sam said not to answer. Dad hadn't tried to save you. You don't have to take the call now. Sam said not to answer-_

Guess Dean hadn't had a reason to ignore those calls, after all.

He didn't think that he could feel any guiltier about not answering that he already had, even though the guilt hadn't stopped him from ignoring the calls. He'd definitely been wrong.

Speaking of the calls-

Dean stopped digging for a second, and turned toward Sam. He still had that lost puppy look on his face, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders hunched.

"I called Dad earlier," Dean said. "While you were getting your tattoos done. Figured that it was about time that we figured out why he'd been trying to reach us."

Yesterday, Sam would've gotten pissed, would've told Dean that they didn't want anything to do with Dad anymore, probably would've treated it like the biggest betrayal Dean could've thrown at him. And Dean could see all of that flash across Sam's face, just for a second, like Sam was instinctively preparing himself to be upset. Then he stopped. A second later, he didn't look so angry anymore. He just looked like he didn't know what to say.

"What did he say?" Cas asked.

"Didn't answer," Dean said.

"Of course," Sam muttered, and shook his head. It didn't have any of the heat that Dean had grown to expect from Sam whenever Dad was mentioned, though. It didn't sound like it had much emotion at all.

Dean figured that something could be said about that, but he definitely didn't want to be the one to say it. So he just turned back toward the digging.

Five minutes later, his shovel struck something solid.

"I think I got it," he called to the others, carefully using his shovel to dig around it so that he could pull it out. And it was about damn time, too. The hole had to be at least seven feet deep, which Dean thought was overkilling it a bit. But then, considering that this was Cas they were talking about, he figured he should just be grateful that it hadn't been shoved down halfway to the center of the earth. Honestly, Dean wouldn't have put it past him.

It only took Dean another minute to pry it out of the ground. It was a simple wooden box, the kind of fancy thing that you'd see on the bedside tables of rich old ladies, to keep their jewelry and whatever in. It was hard to tell with all the dirt on it, but it looked like it'd had a pattern of roses at one point, which was completely obscured by the fact that someone – Cas – had carven symbols all over the damn thing. Dean didn't recognize them at all, except that they looked similar to the ones that they'd just gotten tattooed earlier. Enochian, then.

"Any reason for the chicken scratch on the outside?" Dean asked as he tossed the box up and out of the hole, then grabbed Sam's hand and let his brother help yank him up and out of the hole.

Dean didn't even have to glance at Cas to imagine the look on his face. "There was no poultry involved-"

Dean couldn't help but smile, just slightly, as he got to his feet and dusted himself off. Cas had gotten better lately abut understanding their meaning, but Dean kinda liked the fact that he could still confuse the poor guy. It seemed like just one of those constants, like he couldn't imagine Cas any other way. Besides, it was still funny as hell, even after doing it for the millionth time. Still, though, Dean didn't bother letting Cas finish this time. "What's with the symbols?"

"Oh," Cas said, and nodded. Dean could practically see him filing that away in some mental dictionary of him – "chicken scratch" equals Enochian symbols, or something like that. Whatever definition Cas assigned to it, Dean was pretty sure it was going to end up being wrong. "The box is warded against both angels and demons. Neither of them would be able to sense its presence."

"Smart," Dean said, and reached down to grab the box off the ground. It wasn't locked, meaning that it was only a second before Dean was carefully removing the Colt. First thing he did was open the chamber. "Last bullet is still here," he said, and closed the cartridge, double-checked the safety – you couldn't exactly be too careful when you were dealing with something that would destroy you instantly if it went off on accident – and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he glanced at Cas. "Do we have to worry about the angels or the demons tracking it down now that it's out of the box?"

Cas considered for a second, then shook his head. "The hex bags should keep it from the demons' notice, and as long as it stays close to one of us, the sigils in our tattoos should keep it safe from the angels' gaze. I have no doubt that both Heaven and Hell are searching for it, though. We have to be careful with it."

Dean nodded. "Right. Careful. Got it." They could do careful. Hell, it wasn't like any of them were going to be running out into the street anytime soon, yelling for the demons to come here and kill them.

The only demon who was going to find out about them holding the gun was Azazel, and if Dean got his way, the bastard wouldn't know about it until the second after one of them had pulled the trigger.

Because now that they had a way to kill him – two ways, actually, with the angel blade – there was no way that they were going to let him walk around for much longer.

Now, Azazel was going to die.


	33. Part 2 Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

All three of them crashed the moment that they got to the motel, which wasn't until about an hour after they'd dug up the gun, considering that they'd still had to fill the damn hole in. Not that it probably did a whole lot of good, considering that there was still obviously a circle of dirt where the grass had been the night before, but it was still a little less suspicious, at least. And after that, they'd had the awesome revelation that the graveyard was a good thirty-minute drive from anything – and Dean meant that pretty much literally. By the time that his head finally hit the pillow, it was already morning, and Dean had never been happier to see a bed in his life. He barely even noticed that Cas was curled up at his side. He was too busy squeezing his eyes shut and getting ready to pass out completely.

Cas was still asleep when Dean woke up about five hours later, and a quick glance across the room revealed that Sam was still snoring, too. The three of them hadn't bothered getting separate rooms, considering that they didn't plan on hanging here for much longer, and it wasn't like Dean and Cas had been awake enough for any of the activities that would drive Sam away.

Dean rubbed his eyes, and groaned. Part of him was tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep. Except now that he was awake, he was suddenly completely aware of the fact that he stank. To be expected, he guessed, after spending hours digging and then not bothering to shower afterward. But now that he realized it, he could feel the sweat sticking to his skin and the dirt sticking to the sweat, and shuddered. Okay, shower first, and then he could fall back into bed. Though, that second part might not end up happening, considering that Cas wasn't exactly a daisy, either. He was hoping that motel owners planned on washing the sheets between uses, or else the next occupants would be in for a terrible surprise when they smelled the sheets.

Dean wrinkled his nose, and rolled out of the bed. Right, shower. That's what he was supposed to be doing.

Thirty minutes later, Dean left the bathroom, scratchy motel towel wrapped around his hips. By now, it looked like Sam and Cas were both awake, though Cas was debatable. Sam, at least, had gotten out of bed and was staring at the motel's coffee maker like it would magically turn itself on if he just stared at it enough, without him having to actually cross the motel to reach it. Cas was just sitting in bed, squinting around the room. His eyes fell on Dean, and he smiled.

Dean smirked back. "Like what you see?"

Cas was about to respond. Sam beat him to it. "You're not allowed to have this conversation with me in the room," he said.

"What?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. "Just a simple question."

Sam shook his head, finally pushing himself out of his seat and making his way over to the coffee pot. "Yeah, well, I know what direction that question's gonna lead, which is why I'm shutting it down right now. Not. While. I'm. In. The. Room."

"Spoilsport," Dean grumbled, and started digging through his bag for the least disgusting clothes that he could find. Maybe he'd been wrong about whether he and Cas would need their own room.

"We should find something to eat," Cas said, before Dean got the chance to dwell on that for much longer.

Dean nodded. "I think I saw a diner not too far off," he said. Not that he'd really been paying attention on the drive over here – he'd been way too exhausted for that – but he vaguely remembered seeing one. Plus, there were diners everywhere. He was sure that finding one wouldn't be much of an issue. "You two want to get cleaned up and we can head down there."

"Sure," Sam said, pushing the coffee maker away without actually making anything in it. "Give me ten minutes in the shower, and I'll be ready to go. Although, I think Cas is gonna need to wash up before we leave, too."

Dean nodded. "Should've joined me," he added in Cas' direction. "Could've saved us some time."

"For the last time," Sam began.

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, not while you're in the damn room, I got it."

Sam nodded firmly, and grabbed a random tee shirt from his bag, then headed for the bathroom.

"Actually," Cas suddenly said, and glanced over in Sam's direction for a moment. Then he turned his eyes back toward Dean. "Do you think that you could go to pick up takeout of some sort? Sam and I will stay here, to wash up and get ready to leave after you've returned."

Dean shrugged. "Sure," he said. Probably a good idea, considering that right now, their most important order of business was finding a way to gank Azazel. They should probably get to work on that as soon as possible, meaning researching while they ate, most likely. Awesome.

Cas glanced at Sam for just another second, his eyes darting in Sam's direction, then returning to Dean almost before Dean could even notice. "Thank you," he said with a nod. "Order me whatever you wish, I don't particularly care."

"Will do," Dean said. He grabbed his pillow and yanked it aside, revealing the Colt, which he'd tucked there the night before for safekeeping. He picked it up and held it up to make sure that Sam saw it, then set it on the bedside table. Just in case they needed it. Not that Dean thought that they would. But still, just in case.

He didn't bother to ask for Sam's order – he knew what kinda stuff his brother liked. Instead, he just grabbed the keys and headed out the door.

* * *

><p>It was a half hour later when Dean got back to the motel, absently whistling a Nirvana song as he headed for the door, a bag of takeout containers in one hand. The diner he'd found had had this all-day breakfast thing going on, which was awesome – Dean didn't care if it was the middle of the afternoon, he'd just woken up, and that made it breakfast time, dammit. And they'd also had a "design your own omelet" thing, which was awesome. Dean had even decided to be a nice person and get a bunch of veggies in Sam's, even though Dean maintained that adding spinach to anything just made it completely inedible, no matter what Sam said about it being good for you.<p>

The conversation with Cas yesterday was still playing on repeat in the back of Dean's mind, but he was doing a good job of ignoring it, if he did say so himself. The sick feeling he'd gotten when Cas had told him about Dad nearly going to Hell for Dean was almost gone completely, and as far as Dean was concerned, it could stay that way. As long as he didn't think about it, it couldn't bother him.

Dean was certain that Sam and Cas would disagree with that logic, but whatever. It was Dean's head, and he could think about what he wanted.

"Hey," Dean said, pushing open the door with one hand, the plastic bag of their takeout swinging from his other hand. "Sam still in the shower?" he asked, glancing around the room. His brother didn't look like he was around anywhere, and Cas was sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing the disgusting clothes from yesterday, meaning that that there was no way that Sam had given him a chance in the bathroom yet. Probably still washing his hair. Forget everything that Sam had ever said about Dean being a diva – Dean had never seen anyone else spend so much washing up, just because "the label says rinse and repeat, Dean!"

"No," Cas said, not standing or even lifting his head at all.

Dean frowned as he set the bag onto the table, then turned around. The first thing he noticed was the expression on Cas' face, and it was enough to send Dean's stomach instantly plummeting into his shoes, and he instinctively plunged one hand into his jacket, grabbing onto the gun he had hidden there. Not that he needed it, but he always felt better with one in his hand. And he didn't know what was going on. Better to be paranoid than dead.

"What happened?" Dean demanded, taking another look around the motel room. He didn't see any signs of a fight, or anything like that- Cas would've called him if anything serious had happened, there was no way that the guy would just be sitting there- But the bathroom door was also standing wide open, he saw that now, no way was Sam inside-

"Sam is fine," Cas said quickly, scrambling to his feet and hurrying forward to lay a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He chose to leave the motel. I'm not entirely sure where he decided to go, considering that you had the Impala, so he could not have gone far. But there isn't any danger." He hesitated, then said, "I'm sorry if I had worried you."

Dean just waved that off, relaxing and dropping his hand off of his gun. "It's fine," he said, mainly because he was about ninety percent sure that he had just been acting like a paranoid bastard. Then he turned back to Cas with a frown, eyes narrowing. "If everything is fine, then why do you look like someone just kicked your puppy?"

Cas glanced away. "Sam was not particularly happy when he left the motel room," he admitted. "I had considered going after him, but I believed that he needed his space."

Okay, a fight of some sort. That'd explained it. "What did you do?" Dean asked, though honest, he wouldn't have been surprised if Sam had been the one to start it. Sam could start a fight over frickin' anything, as he'd proved way too many times while they were growing up. Give him anything to disagree with you over, and you'd never get him to shut up over the fact that he was right and everyone else was wrong. And sure, pretty much all of the fights had been with Dad, but Dean wouldn't be surprised if Sam had decided to have a temper tantrum against someone else for a change, considering that Dad wasn't around for Sam to scream at.

No, though, Cas was already looking at the ground, and Dean swore that he saw guilt flash across his face, just for a second. "We had a conversation that he did not find pleasant," he said.

Dean nodded. Okay, that was basically exactly what Dean had already figured out, and not exactly helpful. "What'd you two fight over?"

Cas immediately shook his head. "It was not a fight," he said, then added, "Sam did not look angry as he left. Or, yes, he did look very angry, but I do not believe that the anger was directed at me, though I'm not always the best at judging these things-"

"Cas," Dean said quickly, and stuck his hands on Cas' shoulders, cutting him off. "Come on, man, just tell me what happened."

Cas met Dean's eyes, and yeah, there was definitely some guilt there, especially as Cas shook his head again.

"What?" Dean asked, and scowled. "You're not going to tell me? Seriously?"

"You understand that there is a bit of an... ethical dilemma here," Cas said slowly. "I believe that you deserve to know, but all the same, I want to respect Sam's privacy. It was the reason why I wished to speak to him in private, to tell him before I told you." He hesitated, then said, "I would prefer it if you spoke to Sam first, to either have him explain it to you, or to receive his permission to have me tell you."

Dean's eyes narrowed further. This was definitely not sounding good. As in, the last time that Cas had held a secret like this, it had been because he'd been hearing frickin' voices that turned out to be the angels talking at him. Didn't exactly give Dean any confidence in what this one would be, but still, he nodded and let go of Cas' shoulders. "Okay," he said. The Colt was still sitting on the bedside table, exactly where Dean had left it. He grabbed it quick, tucking it into one of his empty pockets, then headed for the door.

He'd made it halfway outside before he turned around. "Is this the last of it?"

Cas tilted his head. "The last of what?"

Dean shrugged, and made some vague gesture with his hands, which even he wasn't sure what it was supposed to mean. "You know. The secrets and shit. I mean, I know that you're an angel and all, so you've got to know a ton of stuff that we don't. But do you have any more secrets about us? Anything else that you're going to make some big reveal about somewhere down the line." Cas still looked confused, so Dean just shrugged again. "Just want to know what I should brace myself for here, man. Are you going to keep bursting out with these major secrets all the time, or are we done with all this?"

Finally, Cas seemed to understand what Dean was asking. "No," he promised, and took a step forward, eyes locking on Dean's. "No, this is the last of what I know regarding you and your brother, I can swear on that."

Dean nodded once. "Good," he said, then stepped out, letting the door swing closed behind him.

He hadn't thought that Sam would be that hard to find. His brother wasn't usually too creative with his brooding places. Back when they'd been kids, Sam would lock himself in the bathroom for hours at a time, just reading a book or doing his homework, not even using the privacy for anything fun. Other times, he'd run out of the room, and Dean figured out pretty quickly that he'd always find Sam one of two places: the library or a coffee shop, whichever was farther away. That was when Sam wanted to be in a crowd, though – Sam had always had this weird thing about wanting to be alone, but also wanting to be with "normal people" (as he called them) at the same time.

Dean figured that this was different, though. From the sound of it, Sam had been angry about something when he'd left, and angry Sam never made it all that far. Dean could only think of one time when Sam had actually made it more than a few hundred feet after having a blowout with Dad, and in that case, Sam had managed to run all the way to California. Trust his brother to go big or go home about something like this.

Dean shook his head, since Stanford was the last thing that he had to be dwelling on right then, and headed down the street.

And sure enough, there was a park less than a block away, and it didn't take Dean more than a few seconds to recognize Sam, sitting at one of the picnic tables, arms crossed on the table in front of him, his whole body so stiff that Dean could practically feel the rage radiating off of him. It was a look that Dean had only seen a few times in his life – toward Dad, on the day of the whole Stanford thing. Toward Azazel, in the weeks after Jess had been killed. And right now, toward whatever it was that Cas had told him.

Great. Well, Dean was definitely in for a fun conversation, then.

Surprising Sam while he was all worked up like this was probably the stupidest that Dean could do. Didn't stop Dean, though. To be fair to him, he didn't jump up and shout "Boo" or anything like that, even though Sam was distracted enough that Dean definitely would have taken advantage of it any other time. Instead, Dean just didn't give Sam and warning before he climbed up onto the table, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his feet on the bench next to Sam. Sam's eyes flickered over to Dean for a second, but otherwise he didn't do anything to acknowledge that Dean was there.

"So," Dean said after a couple seconds. "Cas won't tell me what's going on. Said something that wanting to respect your privacy. Which means that, sorry, you're gonna have to be the one to tell me what the fuck happened."

Probably not the best way that he could've phrased that, but it did his job. Sam took a deep breath, and straightened slightly, turning his head to look at Dean. "Did Cas tell you anything?"

"Nope," Dean said, then leaned over and poked his brother in the ribs. "So come on, Sammy, get with the sharing. I want to hear all about whatever pushed your buttons like this."

Sam just gave Dean the bitch glare. A real one, too, not just the look that he got on his face whenever he wanted to pretend that he was pissed at Dean, even though secretly he loved Dean's awesome humor. Now, though, it was obviously that he really was pissed. Okay, then, no more trying to lighten the mood.

"Cas didn't tell you that he knows the reason behind the visions?" Sam asked. His voice was tight, like he was restraining himself, trying not to show emotion. Which was always a sign that you should brace yourself for a Sammy explosion. Sam swallowed, then added, "He didn't tell you about what Azazel did to me?"

Dean stiffened now. "No," he said, voice low, all thoughts of trying to make a joke immediately vanishing from his head. Instead, he leaned forward, watching Sam's face. Because he'd known that it had to be something big, to get this reaction from Sam, but he hadn't imagined it being something like this. Though, fuck, Dean didn't even know what "this" was yet.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Dean finally said, after realizing that Sam wasn't in any hurry to share the rest of the story. Sam's eyes immediately cut toward Dean's face, and Dean swore Sam's eyes were almost burning, the way they'd looked the day after Jess' death. Dean amended, "I mean, isn't it good that you at least know now, whatever the reason is?"

"No," Sam said. No pause, no deliberation, he didn't even have to think about it. "No, Dean, it's not a good thing."

Dean frowned, and waited. Nothing. "You're going to have to give me a little more info than that, Sammy."

Sam's mouth twisted to the side. "Apparently, Azazel hadn't been there for Mom," he finally said, slowly, like he was digging a bullet out of a wound. "He'd been there for me."

Dean's hands clenched into fists. "What do you mean?" he demanded. Sam didn't say anything, not right away, and Dean leaned forward, feeling like he was seconds away from shaking his brother. "Sammy," he said, his voice low and carrying an obvious warning. "What did Azazel do?"

Sam's jaw clenched, and he shook his head.

"Sam," Dean warned, and this time he grabbed his brother by the arm. Because Dean was serious. Sam had better start explaining what was happening, or Dean was going to drag the answer out of him.

Sam flinched like Dean's hand was a live wire, immediately jerking away from him. And Dean was about to demand that Sam stop avoiding him and fucking answer, but he didn't have to – Sam was already shoving himself to his feet, head shaking, hands flying in some wide gesture. "You want to know what Azazel did to me, Dean?" he demanded, shaking his head again. His voice was louder now, sounding like he couldn't hold himself back – exactly the kind of explosion that Dean had been expecting to see.

He didn't bother answering, and Sam didn't wait for him to.

"He gave me demon blood, okay, Dean?" Sam said. He was practically shouting now. Then he broke off and shuddered, reaching up to rub his arms, fingernails scratching across his skin. "Azazel infected us with demon blood. All of us. All of his 'special children'." Sam's mouth twisted at the words, and he shook his head again, like if he kept doing that, all of this was going to go away.

For a long minute, Dean just sat there and stared at his brother. He wanted to shake his head, too, and tell Sam that there was no way that that was actually true. It felt- Honest, it felt just like it had when Cas had first said he was an angel, except that Dean was pretty damn certain that this was worse. Or, it would be worse, if it was true. Right then, though, Dean was damn certain that it was a lie.

Except Sam definitely would've been smart enough to figure that out for himself, and no way would he get this worked up about a lie.

"How'd Cas know this?" Dean asked, his voice coming out steady, mostly because he was forcing it to do that. He felt like he was twelve again, after Dad had come stumbling home bleeding from the side after a bad encounter with a wendigo. _Keep calm, don't make Sammy feel any worse, don't let him see that you're scared, lie through your fucking teeth even though Dad's blood is turning the bed sheets bright red. Be the big brother. Protect Sammy_. "You sure that he's right about this?"

Sam just nodded once, more a jerk of the head than anything else. "Apparently all of the angels know," he said, biting out the words. "Common knowledge up in Heaven, I guess. They just didn't bother to do anything about it. Because it was all part of Naomi's plan, though Cas said that it was because the angels weren't allowed to interfere on Earth without direct orders, and nobody was told to keep this from happening."

Dean frowned, and for the first time, he started thinking about the fact that Sam had prayed every day, before. It'd never been something that Dean had really cared about. He was sure that the whole "God" thing was a load of bullshit, but if Sam wanted to try it out, then why not let him? Didn't bother Dean one way or another. But he had to admit, the fact that Dean had never believed in the angels made it weirdly easy to accept the fact that they wanted them dead. It wasn't like he'd had any faith to lose.

Sammy, though, had definitely believed that "angels are protecting us" crap. Which meant that it had to suck when he'd found out how wrong he was.

"You okay?" Dean decided to go with next, the question coming out awkwardly – he definitely wasn't used to saying stuff like this. But he was trying, okay?

Sam barked a laugh, which turned out way more bitter than anything else. "Do I look okay?" he asked, and used the palm of one hand to scrub at his eyes, then ran the hand up through his hair.

No, he definitely didn't. That hadn't been what Dean had been trying to ask, though. "I mean, do you wanna say something about it?" That made Sam look at him, and Dean shifted uncomfortably on the table, then finally just took a deep breath and came out with it. "You wanna talk?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, looking surprised enough to kill a bit of the anger, for now, at least. "You want me to actually talk about how I feel?" he asked. "You? Talking about feelings? Really?"

Dean scowled and looked away. "Don't get used to it," he muttered.

But yeah, he was worried about Sam. Which meant that they probably should do some talking, try to get an idea of where Sam's head was at.

Not to mention that asking Sam to do the talking was way easier than Dean having to think about all of the different emotions that were swirling around in his head. Sam's feelings were like a blanket that he could throw over his own. Made it a whole lot easier to think – or, to not think.

For a minute, Dean was sure that Sam wasn't actually going to say anything. Dean was a few seconds away from giving him hell for that – seriously, Dean finally agrees to do the feelings thing that Sam wants, and Sam won't even take advantage of it? – when Sam finally spoke up. "It feels-" he began, and hesitated, like he was searching for the right word. Dean looked back at his brother, and didn't say anything, just gave him time. "-disgusting," Sam finally finished, and Dean swore that he was trying to suppress of a shudder.

"Why?" Dean asked. He also wasn't all that great at being comforting, either, but he was trying to give it a go, at least. "You're exactly the same as you were yesterday, aren't you? It's not like you changed."

"Yeah," Sam said, "but now I know."

Dean grimaced, and wanted to argue with that, but he couldn't, really. He knew what Sam meant, and that was the absolute worst part, because this was definitely something that he didn't want to feel.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking it, though. The thoughts kept pushing their way into his mind, no matter what he tried to do to stop them. Not disgust toward Sammy – god, no, he wasn't going to start thinking that way, not ever. Sam was his brother, and as far as Dean was concerned, that didn't change at all.

But thinking about the idea of a human having demon blood objectively – God, the thought was disgusting. Dean wasn't even sure how Azazel could have given his blood to a group of babies, but there was no way that he was going to fucking ask, because he couldn't think of a way that didn't make him feel like he was going to be sick.

And trying to picture the other psychics they'd met – Ansen and Max had both always been psychos, so Dean's opinion on them didn't change there. But there was also Andy, who'd been a pretty good guy, more or less. Not that Dean had known him, not really, but there hadn't been a reason to dislike the kid.

Thinking about the fact that Andy was part demon, apparently? Suddenly, Dean was pretty sure that he didn't want to go meeting up with Andy again any time soon. Didn't care if the guy had seemed nice enough. Dean wasn't sure if he'd be able to look at him without shuddering. It was just, there was something not right about that, being a human with demon blood. A freak of nature. Definitely screwed up.

He couldn't think like that when he looked at Sam, though. So that was something to be glad for, at least.

"We'll figure it out," Dean said – like he'd thought before, comforting people was not his forte. He'd had more experience comforting Sammy than with anyone else, but that didn't mean that he was actually any good, even after years of practicing. Still, though, he knew enough to be able to tell that he had to say something, that he couldn't just keep sitting there with his mouth open like a complete idiot. And that seemed like as good a thing to say as anything.

Sam disagreed, apparently, if the bitter laugh was anything to go on.

"Figure this out?" Sam asked, a mocking tone to his voice. "Dean, this isn't something that we can figure out. This is something that's inside me." He broke off, shaking his head again. "God, Dean, you don't get it. This? This is worse that anything else that he could've done. He changed me."

"And we're going to gank the bastard for it," Dean said, reaching up to pat the pocket where he kept the Colt. "It'll be taken care of."

"And then what?" Sam demanded. "What, the demon blood is just going to magically go away? Like I'll turn human as soon as Azazel is dead? Because I know that that's the way that we're going to get your soul back, but somehow, I don't think that it works that way for me."

"You're human," Dean argued.

"I have demon blood." Sam cut Dean of almost before he had finished speaking. Then he shuddered, and when he spoke again, it wasn't so angry anymore. Except now it sounded more hopeless, and fuck, it made Dean wish that the anger would just come back. That'd be easier to deal with, at least. "No matter what happens now, this isn't going to change."

"You're right," Dean said, and for a second, he saw the surprise flash across Sam's eyes – apparently he hadn't been expecting Dean to agree. Dean pushed himself off the picnic table, moving over to stand closer to Sammy. "Listen, what happened happened. Thinking about it isn't going to change it, either. But come on, Sam, if you have demon blood because of what Azazel did, then it means that you've had it since you were six months old, and it hasn't bothered you so far, except for the whole visions thing." Sam snorted, making it clear that he thought that the "visions thing" was a damn big deal, but Dean ignored him. "So, this happened. Doesn't mean you're any different. Doesn't mean you have to start turning into an emo kid and brooding about how unfair your whole damn life is. Come on, Sam. This kind of shit always happens to us. We've got to just suck it up and deal with it." It only felt like half a lie, too. Well, all of the stuff about how nothing had changed was half of a lie. The rest, about sucking it up and dealing? That was the whole truth.

Sam snorted again. "You know, that was almost a nice pep talk," he said, then added, "Or, it would've been if I believed anything you were saying."

Honestly, that was about the response that Dean had been expecting. He shrugged. "I gave it my best," he said, and hesitated, then reached forward to put his hand on Sam's shoulder, looking his brother in the eye. And for a second, Dean was pretty sure that he was supposed to say something brotherly and loving, something that actually would work to make Sam feel better. Turn this into a real tender, emotional moment. Maybe end it with the two of them hugging and sobbing on each other's shoulder.

"Wanna head back inside and grab our breakfast?" was what Dean ended up going with. "Come on, I know that I can't be the only one who's starving. Besides, Cas is probably still inside kicking himself over making you feel bad. We'd better go talk to him before he ends up curled up in the corner sobbing."

Sam took a deep breath, then nodded. "Okay," he said. "Let's head back inside."

Dean had been exaggerating when he'd said that Cas was going to be sobbing in the corner, but when they got back to the room, it was obvious that the guy was still upset. He was sitting on the edge of the bed again, exactly where Dean had first found him. He still hadn't bothered to change out of his dirty clothes, even though it had gotten bad enough that Dean could practically smell him from across the room, and the bag of food hadn't even be touched.

The moment that Dean and Sam entered the room, Cas was on his feet. "Sam," he said, and then looked like he didn't know what else should come after that.

"Thanks for telling me, Cas," Sam said, and even managed a smile. "I'm glad I know, at least."

Slowly, Cas nodded. "I didn't want to risk hurting you," he said, "but it didn't seem right to keep the information from you, either."

"Yeah, no, I get that," Sam said quickly. "Like I said, I'm glad you told me." Then he crossed over to the table, immediately starting to go through the bag with this look of intense concentration, like there was no way in hell that he was going to think about anything else besides finding his omelet and digging in.

If Sam was concentrating so hard in an attempt to keep Cas from saying anything else, it didn't work. Actually, it kind of failed miserably, because Cas took a step forward, and said, "You should know that I don't believe that the demon blood makes a difference. If I had known about it when we had first met, I would have believed that you were an abomination. But now that I know you, I do not think so."

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said, and Dean was pretty sure that even Cas would be able to pick up on the sarcastic twist to his words.

If Cas did notice it, though, he didn't react. Instead, he just continued, "Demon blood or none, you are still one of the best men that I have met, and you should know that the demon blood doesn't make you lesser in any way. That, I firmly believe."

Sam was quiet for a long minute. Then-

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said again – quieter this time, more like he actually meant it.

Cas just nodded, and accepted the Styrofoam box that Sam offered him without another word. None of them spoke again as they all sat down around the table, except for Sam bitching a bit about the fact that Dean hadn't bothered to grab drinks, while Dean complained about the fact that he'd thought that they wouldn't need them, because he'd expected Sam to have the coffee pot working by now. If he squinted, it almost looked like things were normal. All he had to do was ignore the too-stiff set to Sam's shoulders, the worried looks that Cas was still sending in Sam's direction, and the sick feeling still churning in his own stomach, and Dean would be able to pretend that everything was just fine.

* * *

><p>After they'd finished eating, they had to figure out where they were going to head off to next.<p>

"Bobby's house?" Dean suggested, shoving his empty container away and tilting his chair back onto its two back legs.

Cas, though, vetoed that idea immediately. "Neither the angels nor the demons will be able to find us," he said, "but it is still better if we don't go anywhere where they will expect us to be. If they don't know where to begin looking, they will never find us. But if we go someplace predictable, then there is a chance that they will be able to track us down."

Dean nodded. "Okay, no to Bobby's house."

"Killing Azazel is out next step," Sam said, crumpling up his napkin and tossing it across the room, where it bounced off the rim of the trashcan and fell to the floor. Sam grimaced as he got out of his seat to go pick it up.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. You want to explain how you got to that conclusion?"

Sam gave his standard bitch face – the one that meant that he wasn't actually as annoyed with Dean as he was pretending to be – and continued, "Dad knew how to summon Azazel, remember? I still remember most of the ingredients that he asked for us to get for him, and Bobby's bound to know the rest." He shrugged. "We complete the summoning spell, shoot him with the gun, and finish this."

Slowly, Dean nodded. "That's not actually a bad idea."

"We will lose the element of surprise," Cas warned. "There is a reason why your father never planned on using that summoning spell until he had no other choice. Azazel will know what we are planning to do, and will be prepared."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, but how much trouble could he get into if we stick him in a devil's trap?"

He meant it to be more rhetorical than anything – he knew that demons could get plenty feisty, even when they were supposed to be bound. Cas decided to answer anyway, though. Which might've ended up being a good thing, because apparently the answer roughly translated into "a shit ton more trouble than Dean had thought".

Cas' actual answer was, "The devil's trap will have to be fairly large, as the summoning spells aren't terribly precise, and there's no way to tell exactly where in the immediate vicinity he will manifest. It's still possible, though we would also have to account for the fact that once he knows what we're doing, he may choose to have his followers teleport. Even if the summoning is successful, there is a chance that we may end up being forced to face several more demons than we had prepared for. And even if he does come alone, I am not sure what his abilities are, and whether he would be able to break the trap and free himself."

"Okay, okay, got it," Dean said. "You said that you were some big strategist in Heaven, right?"

Cas blinked, looking confused by the sudden change in topic, but he nodded. "Yes, I was."

"I can tell," Dean said simply, then said, "Okay, then, what are you thinking we should do?"

Dean had expected Cas to be the one to answer, considering that he was obviously in some Heavenly-strategist mode, getting this intense look on his face, like he was planning battle strategies in his head. And Cas looked like he was going to say something, but Sam beat him to it.

"Tomorrow," Sam said, suddenly leaning forward. Dean shot him a look, waiting for him to elaborate on that, and Sam added, "If the demons are sticking to the schedule, it means that the next victim is going to be kidnapped sometime tomorrow."

"Meaning that they'll be trying to come after you again," Dean said, narrowing his eyes.

Sam shook his head impatiently. "Maybe they will," he said, and made a dismissive gesture to show how little he thought that _that_ mattered. "But even if he comes looking, he won't be able to find me, if Cas is right about the hex bags and angel sigils."

"I am right," Cas interjected. "I would not take any chances with your safety."

Sam acknowledged that with a nod, but otherwise didn't respond, or even glance at Cas. Instead, he kept going without pause. "My guess is that Azazel will be going after the next person on the list, the one who's supposed to be taken after me. So, we find who that is, we go to their house, and we wait for Azazel to show up. Then we kill him before he knows that we're coming."

Dean nodded. It sounded like a good plan to him. Or, no, scratch that – anything that involved Sam going anywhere near Azazel sounded like an absolutely terrible plan, but they weren't exactly going to get anywhere with their plan to kill Azazel if they were never in the same room as the bastard. And Dean could try to suggest that they leave Sam behind, but he could just imagine how well that suggestion would go over.

So instead, he just leaned forward, letting the front two chair legs slam down to the floor, then turned in his seat to face Cas completely. "What do you think?"

Cas considered it for a long moment. "It is not without risks," he finally said, "but I think that it sounds like the best plan that we have."

Dean nodded. "I guess we're doing that, then," he said, and climbed to his feet, heading over to go grab their bags. "You know who the next person is going to be?"

Sam was already on his feet as well, hurrying over to yank out his laptop, then settled onto the bed with the computer in his lap. "I'd backed up the information online at the same time that I'd emailed it to Bobby, just in case. Give me a minute or two, and I'll know where we need to go."

"Got it," Dean said. "You do your nerd stuff, and Cas and I will pack up the car." He slung both his and Sam's bag over one shoulder, and headed out the door, Cas trailing after him. Not that Cas actually had to help him with the bags at all, considering that he and Sam were both still down to only a couple shirts and jeans each, and Cas didn't have any of his own clothes left. Hell, they didn't even have any actual duffle bags anymore, just some plastic bags that they'd stuffed their clothes into to make it easier to haul stuff around. It wasn't like Dean was going to be struggling to carry these things out.

It only took Dean a few seconds to pack up the car. Cas stood beside him while he did it, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring off into the distance like he was lost in thought. Dean turned around, then leaned back against the trunk of the Impala, just watching him for a moment.

"Do you believe that we can really kill Azazel tomorrow?" Cas asked suddenly, turning his head to look at Dean now.

Dean just shrugged. "I hope so," he said, and reached up to touch the Colt through his jacket. He tried to imaging the twenty-year vengeance mission being over. Knowing, for the first time in ten years, that there'd be something waiting for him after he died besides Hellfire. Not having to worry about Sam's visions any longer, or about Sam getting kidnapped. He swallowed. "This could all be over."

"No," Cas said, making Dean frown. "It will not be over. We will still have to find a way to put an end to Naomi's plans. And Azazel plays an important part in Lucifer's rise, but I'm sure that the angels could find somebody to replace him. Just stopping him won't mean that Lucifer won't eventually rise."

"Buzzkill, dude," Dean said.

Cas frowned, then amended, "But several important things will come with Azazel's death. Sam would be safer, at least. And you will have your soul back." And based off the way that Cas said that last part, it was almost as though he thought that that last part was the only thing that mattered.

Dean swallowed again. The way that Cas was staring at him had suddenly morphed into being way too intense – and considering the way that Cas usually looked at him, that was saying something. Dean looked away, then said, "Come on, let's see if Sam knows where we're going yet. Not to mention that – no offense – if we're going to be sitting in the same car for the next few hours, you're going to have to shower first."

For a moment, Cas looked as though he was going to act offended. Then he wrinkled his nose, and nodded. "Fair enough," he said, and the two of them started walking back to the room.

Along the way, Cas moved a step closer to Dean, so that their arms brushed against each other, then slipped his hand into Dean's and squeezed.

Dean smiled, and squeezed back, then led the way back into the motel.


	34. Part 2 Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

They arrived in the hometown of one Lily Baker – the next girl on the list – at about nine o'clock that night. It was Sam who suggested getting the motel room. "We don't need to worry about Azazel for at least another three hours, if he's sticking to his pattern," he said. "We might as well go find a place to crash until then, since odds are, we're going to be up all night waiting for the demons to come."

Dean definitely didn't argue. He wasn't going to complain about having to stay up all night – or, at least, he wouldn't complain about it much. He'd actually gotten sleep lately, meaning that he could afford to miss another night, even if it did definitely suck to get stuck pulling all-nighters twice in a row. But still, he'd be glad to have somewhere to rest up, even just for the sake of getting out of the car and stretching his legs for a bit. He loved his baby and all, but sitting in her all night to keep watch was going to be tough enough without having to stay in her for an extra three hours beforehand.

Sam was also the one who insisted on getting the two rooms. He smirked at them when Dean asked about it. "There's no way that I'm going to share a room with the two of you. I'm pretty sure I don't need to know what the two of you are going to do to pass the time."

There'd been something off about his voice when he said it. It was the kind of "I'm secretly fucking upset" voice that Sam had been using all afternoon, this stiff "let's pretend that everything's fine" thing that he'd had going on ever since Cas had talked to him that afternoon. And Dean was pretty sure that he should be doing something to fix this up and make Sammy feel better, but he'd kinda used his best words up when he'd first talked to Sam about it. If that wasn't enough, then Dean didn't know what else to say. So he figured that he'd be better off letting Sam have this time to himself. With any luck, Sam would just brood and get over it.

Besides, Sam was right about the pastimes that Dean and Cas were going to get into.

"Here's the rule," Dean said to Cas as he laid his bag onto the table. Cas turned to look at him, head tilted slightly, watching Dean expectantly. "For the next three hours, we're not going to talk about Azazel or demons or angels or anything, you got that?"

Cas nodded once. "I can do that, if you wish," he said, then gestured toward the bed as he added, "Should we try to nap before we-" He suddenly cut himself off, and shook his head, like he'd just remembered that he wasn't allowed to say anything about the stakeout.

The corner of Dean's mouth pulled up into a grin, and he said, "We can if you want to, but I can think of a few better ways to spend the time."

"I agree," Cas said, and stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Dean in an instant.

Oh, yeah, this had definitely been the right decision.

* * *

><p>It was eleven thirty when Sam knocked on the door. "We should get going in about ten minutes," he called through the door. "You two had better be dressed."<p>

They weren't. Not that that should've been a surprise to Sam, considering what he'd said earlier about their activities.

The two of them were lying in bed together, propped up on the funky-smelling motel pillows. Cas had his arm wrapped around Dean's back, his fingers lightly rubbing the skin around the angel sigils without actually touching the design. All three of them had taken the bandages off their tattoos ages ago, but the artists had warned them that tattoos were technically considered open wounds, so you weren't supposed to touch them. Honestly, Dean thought that enough time had passed that it would be fine, but Cas had insisted something about wanting to be careful.

Not that Dean could exactly argue, since he was doing the same thing to Cas. Fingertips barely touching Cas' stomach, tracing a small line up and down next to one of the sigils, moving as close to the ink as he could without actually touching them.

He had to admit, he linked the way that the tattoos looked, black symbols stretching across Cas' skin, and the matching anti-possession sigil right over his heart. Definitely hot.

Now, though, Cas sat up and climbed out of the bed. "We will be ready shortly," he called to Sam, "though I do not recommend that you come inside yet."

"Figures," Sam muttered, just loud enough for Dean to hear him through the door, then added in a louder voice, "Don't take too long, okay? We should be leaving in a minute."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, probably not loud enough that Sam could actually hear him, and rolled off the bed, walking over to grab the garment bag he'd stuck on the table earlier. He and Sam had decided that they'd go with their suits tonight, no matter how Dean had bitched about not wanting to be stuck in the damn thing all night. But, well, Sam had had a good point when he'd said that they didn't know what was going happen, and it was better to be prepared. One of the ideas that they'd been throwing around was to pose as FBI agents and go talk with Lily, to see if they could wait for Azazel inside her house. They didn't know if they were going to go with that one, but they wanted to be able to do it if they decided that they should. Hence the suits.

Besides, Sam'd also been right when he'd pointed out that, until they hit a Laundromat or actually bought new clothes, there options were getting pretty limited. These suits were probably the only clean stuff they had left.

Didn't mean that Dean had to like it.

"I am ready," Cas said a moment later, turning toward Dean. Dean took a moment to look him up and down, then smiled, reaching over to smooth down the collar of Cas' trench coat.

"Let's go," Dean said, and the two of them headed out the motel.

"I take it that you two enjoyed yourselves?" Sam asked as they climbed into the Impala.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "I thought that you didn't want to know?"

Sam immediately shuddered. "Trust me, I don't. Whatever you two do, just keep it to yourself."

"Can do," Dean said, and looked over to study Sam. It's not like there were any obvious signs of whatever it had been that Sam'd been doing alone in his motel room – it wasn't like Dean had expected Sam to be crying his eyes out the whole time – but Dean was still pretty sure that Sam had spent the whole time brooding. "Thinking," Sam would've called it, even though they both knew that Dean's word was way more accurate. And even though Dean'd known that that had been what Sam was going to be up to, Dean still felt like he should be saying something. He wasn't exactly fond of the mushy-gushy comforting words, but he didn't really want to leave Sam to be freaked out without at least trying to say something else about it. Not that he actually knew what to say.

It was only a five minute drive to this Lily Baker's house, anyway. There wouldn't have been time to say something, even if Dean had actually known what to say.

They parked the car about ten minutes until midnight. The Baker's house was silent, and dark except for one light up in one of the upper windows.

"You've got the Colt?" Sam asked.

Dean snorted. "A bit late to be asking that now, isn't it?" he asked, then pulled it out of his jacket pocket and held it out toward Sam. "Here, you should take it." There was a short second where Dean didn't think that Sam was going to, so he added, "You're the one that Azazel's coming after. That means that you'll be the one most likely to get a shot at him." He didn't bother adding that he also wanted Sam to keep it, to make sure that he'd have a way to defend himself. He was pretty sure that Sam would be able to guess at that one, anyway.

Sam's hand closed around the Colt, but he shook his head, even as Dean handed it over to him. "You need a way to defend yourself just as much as I do," he said.

Dean shrugged, and was going to say that he'd be fine – he'd rather make sure that Sam could defend himself. But Cas spoke before he could. "You should be the one to carry this," he said, and reached up his sleeve to draw his angel blade, then held it out – handle first – toward Dean.

Dean raised his eyebrows, and didn't move to take it. "What are you going to use, then?"

Based on the look on Cas' face, he hadn't thought of it. He also didn't particularly seem to care. "The hellhounds are going to be coming for you," he said. "Until you regain your soul, you need to carry a weapon that will allow you to kill them. They will not be trying to harm me the way that they will be trying to harm you."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, because I can't think of a single reason why the demons might want you dead," he said dryly.

"Dean," Cas insisted, and waved the blade slightly in his direction. "You will go to hell if you are killed. Take the blade and defend yourself."

"And you dying would be any better?" Dean countered. "What even happens to angels when they die?"

Cas shook his head, looking almost impatient now. "That is a complicated question that we don't have time for right now," he said, and again, held the blade out to Dean, practically waving it in front of him now. Dean just frowned, and didn't make any move to take it.

"Here," Sam suddenly said, reaching into his jacket instead. This time, he drew a short dagger in a sheath, and handed it to Cas. "Solid iron. Won't kill a demon, but it will sure hurt it more than a normal knife would."

"Thank you," Cas said sincerely, taking the blade from Sam's hands, then turning toward Dean expectantly.

Dean scowled, but Cas didn't look like he was going to back down, so finally, Dean grumbled and grabbed the blade from his hands. "Fine," Dean mumbled, sliding it into his inside pocket. "You win. Happy now?"

Based on the look on Cas' face, the answer was definitely yes. Smug bastard.

Dean turned back around, looking over toward the house. Neither Cas or Sam said anything more, and after a few seconds, Dean reached over and turned on the radio, turning the dial until it was just loud enough that they'd be able to hear it if it suddenly turned to static. That was one of Azazel's calling cards – it was how Dean had known something was wrong the day Jess had died, and had barely made it back in time to drag Sammy out of there – and if demons were on their way, Dean wanted to at least get a few seconds notice.

Sam nodded, showing that he knew what Dean was doing, then turned his eyes back toward the house. And Dean didn't know if Cas realized what the radio was for, but either way, he didn't ask, so Dean didn't bother to explain. When Azazel actually came, Dean was pretty sure Cas would catch on pretty fast.

Dean settled himself back into the seat, preparing for a long and boring night.

He didn't bother paying much attention to the house, not yet, even if he did keep his head turned in that direction. But they had five more minutes until midnight, which meant five minutes before they even had to worry about Azazel showing up, and if Dean wanted to be zoned out while he had the chance, then he damn well would. He'd save the concentration for when it was actually necessary.

Still, though, he noticed it when Sam stopped looking at the house completely. He wasn't even pretending to look over there. Instead, he was staring out the front window, eyes narrowed and a frown on his face.

"Sam?" Dean prompted after a moment. "You see something?" Not that Dean could think of what Sam could've seen. There was nobody around out here at this time of night. There weren't even very many cars, just one other truck parked on the side of the road ahead of the Impala-

Dean saw it at the exact moment that Sam said, his voice low, "I think that's Dad."

There was about a second where Dean just sat there, not moving, just staring at the back of their dad's truck. Then he pushed open the door and climbed out, even though he could practically feel Sam's disapproving look burning into his back.

Except when Dean glanced back, he saw that Sam and Cas were both scrambling after him – that was what he'd expected - but that Sam looked... not upset, at least. More confused than anything else, honestly, with this frown on his face, but it didn't look like it was aimed at Dean. Or maybe thoughtful was the better word. Shit, Dean didn't know. All he did know was that Sam didn't look angry that Dean was heading over to talk to Dad, and that was one thing to be grateful for, at least.

Dean was halfway to Dad's car when Dad noticed them, and immediately climbed out of the car and turned to face them.

Dean swallowed. "Dad," he said, and didn't really know what to follow up with.

He didn't actually need to find any words, though, because Dad was already speaking. "Why the hell didn't you pick up the phone?" he demanded, stepping toward Dean, and Dean had to keep himself from flinching instinctively.

And just like that, Sam was back into angry mode. Seriously, it was like a switch had been flipped, and Sam's face morphed into exactly the kind of angry mask that Dean expected to see on it any time that Dad and Sam were within fifty feet of each other. "Last I checked, you were the one who didn't want to talk to us, Dad."

Dad immediately turned toward Sam, and mentally, Dean braced himself. It wouldn't turn into a real fight – not here, not while they were on a case, not while they still had to stop Azazel. But no way was Dad going to forget a comment like that, and Dean could just picture the way that he was going to react-

Dean was wrong, though. Dad didn't snap back a response, the way that Dean had expected. He didn't even look angry.

Instead, he stepped forward and grabbed Sam, pulling him forward and hugging him tight.

Sam looked just as surprised as Dean was, and for a few seconds he just stood there, his hands lifting halfway like he couldn't tell if he was supposed to hug Dad back or not. But Dad stepped back before Sam ever got the chance to make a decision, and immediately turned back to Dean, and grabbed him in a hug, too.

The one didn't last as long. Dean had barely a second to figure out what was happening, and then Dad was already moving back, narrowing his eyes at Dean and demanding, "Almost two full days. That's how long it took you to call me back? You couldn't even take a minute to call me and tell me that you were okay?"

_You didn't._ It showed that Dean had been around Sammy way too much, that that was the first thing that popped into his head. He quickly swallowed down that thought – he knew better than to even think about saying that out loud.

Sam had never learned that lesson, though, that much was obvious. "What happened to you telling us to never come back?" he demanded. "Or is that just when you don't need our help with something?"

Dad didn't look over at Sam this time, but he did narrow his eyes, still glaring at Dean. "When I call, you answer," he said, and his voice was low, but Dean could hear the anger in it, just barely below the surface. If they were somewhere where they could risk making noise, then Dad would be yelling by now. "I didn't know what had happened. You and your brother could have been dead."

Dean frowned. "What?" he asked, then, "Dad? Did something happen?"

"Yeah," Dad snapped. "I cracked the pattern. Sam was in the next group due to be taken, and you couldn't even pick up the damn phone to tell me that he hadn't been taken?"

Dean froze. He'd never thought about their dad figuring that out. Which, to be fair, Dad hadn't known it the last time that they'd talked to him, so it wasn't like Dean had had a reason to think that Dad might know it now. But still, just the thought made all those guilty feelings come roaring forward.

"Sorry," he said gruffly, and glanced away for a moment before looking back toward Dad.

"We had a lot to deal with," Sam said stiffly, not sounding half as sorry as Dean did.

Cas cleared his throat, and the three of them all turned to look at him – and from the way that Dad frowned, Dean was pretty sure that this was the first time that Dad really noticed that Cas was with them. "It's after midnight," Cas said to Dean, then turned to look over at Dad. "We should be focusing on watching for Azazel. And if you are going to stay with us, you will need to be marked with certain sigils, to make sure that the angels can no longer find you."

Dad frowned, and based on the look in his eyes, Dean could tell that he was having the same reaction to angels as Dean had when he'd first learned about them – mainly, that he didn't think that they existed. "Angels?"

Cas either didn't pick up on the incredulity, or – more likely – he just didn't bother to acknowledge it. "Yes," he said simply, and turned and headed back toward the Impala without saying anything else.

"What is he talking about?" Dad demanded, turning back to Dean. Then he glanced over at Cas, who was no leaning in through the driver's side door, rooting around for something in the glove compartment. "And what is he doing?"

Dean rubbed his face with one hand, just for a second, and tried to think of the way that he was going to say this. "He's talking about how we found out that angels exist, and they're not exactly all fluffy wings and sparkly halos. Actually, half of the ones I've met have been real dicks." Not that that was really saying a whole lot, he guessed, since he'd only actually met two of them. But based on the ways that Cas talked about the others, Dean was guessing that it was safe to say that the rest of them sucked, too. Except Cas, of course.

As for the second question, well, Dean didn't actually know the answer to that one.

"Angels," Dad said again, voice still flat. "You're saying that you and your brother met angels?"

"Yeah," Sam said, crossing his arms and looking like he was daring Dad to disagree. "We have, actually. Dean's right about them not being as nice as you'd think they'd be."

"For the most part," Dean added quickly, as Cas rejoined them.

Cas took a brief moment to smile slightly at Dean, then turned toward Dad, holding up a pen that he must've found in the Impala somewhere. "As I said, there are certain sigils that I can draw on your skin in order to keep the angels from being able to find you." He frowned for a second, the said, "I doubt that the angels will be looking for you right now, if they're aware that you fought with your sons. But there is a chance that they might choose to you to find Sam and Dean in the future. It's important that I draw them as soon as possible."

"And you believe this?" Dad asked, voice rising slightly.

He must've seen something in Sam and Dean's faces that made it clear that yeah, they were a hundred percent serious about this one, because he immediately looked like he was going to argue. Sam cut him off before he could get started. "Just humor us, okay?" he said. "We all have them, too, Dad. Trust me when I say that they're important."

Dad narrowed his eyes, and looked at Dean. Dean nodded slightly, and reached up to touch his arm. Not that the tattoos were visible through two layers of fabric, but Dean could still feel where they'd been marked into his skin.

Dad didn't look happy at all, and Dean was pretty certain that he was going to keep arguing. It wouldn't be a surprise if he did – Dad never trusted what Dean said on a case, not until Dean had backed it up with ironclad evidence. Telling Dad to just trust them, even when they couldn't prove it? Wasn't going to happen.

Except Dad decided to surprise them again, because after giving one last look at Sam, he scowled but stuck out his hand toward Cas. "Fine," he said tightly, as Cas pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and began drawing the sigils on the back of Dad's arm. "But you've got a lot of explaining to do."

* * *

><p>"Before we do anything else," Dad said, the moment that they were in the car, "we need to figure out a strategy." Dad had decided to sit with them in the Impala while they kept watch on the house. He was in the driver's seat now, meaning that Dean had scooted over to the passenger side, and Sam had been kicked into the backseat, next to Cas. "My plan is to try to trap Azazel once he shows up, to-"<p>

"Actually," Sam said quickly, and leaned forward, pulling the Colt out of his pocket and holding it up to show Dad.

"And we've got this, too," Dean said, drawing the angel blade and turning it over in his hands for a moment before slipping it back into his jacket. "Works just as well, apparently, assuming we can get close enough to stab the bastard."

"We might be able to," Cas added from beside Sam, also leaning forward, one hand on the arm of Dean's seat. "With any luck, Azazel won't know that we're coming."

"Wait," Dad said, looking back and forth between Dean and Sam, even as Sam returned the Colt to his pocket. "Where did you get those? And what blade is that, anyway?"

Dean let out a long breath. "It's part of the long story that we said we'd explain to you."

Dad nodded, and turned himself fully to face Dean. "Keep an eye on the house," he added absently to Sam and Cas, then locked his eyes on Dean's face. "And you, explain."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean, and even though he didn't say anything, Dean could tell exactly what he was offering. If Dean said something now, he was sure that Sam was step forward and be the one to explain all of this. And for a second, Dean was honestly tempted. Mostly because everything had somehow gotten frickin' complicated in the past five days, Dad wasn't going to believe half of it anyway, and Dean didn't want to have to be the one to try and make Dad see that it was true.

Dean shook his head, though, just the smallest bit, and Sam nodded once before turning to watch the Baker's house again. No, Dean figured that he should be the one to say all of this. For one, Dad had asked him, not Sam – meaning that Dean had to be the one to explain it all. And more than that, Dean wasn't entirely sure he trusted Sam to explain everything calmly, without finding some way to pick a fight. Generally speaking, the less that Dad and Sam actually interacted with each other, the better.

"It started with the demons coming for us," Dean said slowly, and launched into the explanation quickly, before he could think too much about it. Cas vanishing, and the two of them escaping out the window and running for the Impala. He didn't exactly want to talk about the hellhound ripping into his leg – it still made him wince, to think how close he'd come to letting it drag him down to Hell – but he knew that Dad would give him shit if he found out about it later, and Dean hadn't warned him that he was playing wounded. Dad was big on that, making sure that everyone knew the risks so that he knew how to cover each other's backs.

Still, Dad wasn't going to be too pleased that Dean had let himself get wounded. Dean stared straight ahead for that part, not even glancing at Dad until he was past it, and onto talking about heading to Bobby's place to hide out.

He didn't mention the fact that the demons had been coming after him instead of Sammy. He definitely didn't say that he'd sold his soul.

Dad didn't need know that Dean had failed ten years ago, and Dad definitely didn't need to know about the consequences.

So instead, Dean launched straight into the rest of it, about how the spell hadn't worked at finding Cas, and about how "Jimmy Novak" had turned up unconscious in Illinois – which led to yet another thing that he had to explain, the fact that no, Cas' name wasn't actually Jimmy, and yes, there was a reason why he'd said that it was, and if Dad would just wait while Dean explained it-

Of course, actually explaining it was a lot easier to think about than to actually do. Which was saying something, considering that just the thought was enough to make his insides squirm. God, Dad didn't even like Cas, anyway, and he didn't believe that angels existed, either. Trying to explain how Cas happened to be one? Not going to go well.

"We got to the library, and Cas drew the sigils on our hands so that the angels wouldn't be able to find us," Dean said slowly. "Too late, though. One of them was already here, though the sigils kept her from knowing exactly where we were at, so we almost got away. She still managed to get us in the end, though."

"And this angel," Dad said, the slightest bit of sarcasm on the last word. "You saw her?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "They look like humans, mostly. Except that they can do weird things like make their eyes glow and flash their wings behind them." Cas frowned, and looked like he was going to say something – probably wanting to clarify the whole thing about how angels didn't' actually look like humans, that their true forms were way different. And yeah, Dean knew that he'd gotten that one wrong. He still shook his head at Cas, though. Right then, the basics were all they needed. No sense going into the details, and making Dad believe them even less than he already did.

Dad nodded once, seeming like he was almost accepting that. Dean couldn't tell if he really was, though, or if he was preparing to explain why exactly Dean was completely wrong about this. "And why do these angels care about you two so much?"

"I was getting to that part," Dean said, then cleared his throat, and didn't actually say anything.

"I can explain, if you wish," Cas offered after a moment.

"No," Dean said quickly. "It's fine, I got it." If Sam explaining the whole story would be bad, then Dean was pretty sure that having Cas do it would be disastrous. Not that Cas would mean to make it bad, but his way of explaining things was just going to freak Dad out even more. Dude didn't know when to hold his tongue and not go into the itty bitty details, and he definitely didn't know how to explain things so that they actually made sense. So, yeah, Dean was going to have to cover this one. He took a deep breath. "So, there are these sixty-six seals, apparently."

Dad listened, not moving or saying anything. Honestly, that was more unnerving than if he'd been protesting the whole time, and only made Dean even more aware of the fact that everything he said sounded completely ridiculous. Hell, if Ash or Bobby had come up to them and tried to explain that they'd figured this thing out, Dean would've laughed in their faces, and said that there was no fucking way that any of this could be even remotely true. But, well, it was Cas. And Cas was an angel, so Dean had to trust him with this one.

It didn't make it any less ridiculous, though, and it didn't make it any less awkward for Dean to try to explain it.

Dad still didn't say a word, not even when Dean finally braced himself and said that Cas knew all of this 'cause he's an angel. Fuck, Dad's face didn't show any emotion at all, didn't even look surprised. That was a big frickin' sign that Dad didn't actually believe a word.

Dean raced through the last bit, the part about how Cas had been the one to save him when he'd been dying in the hospital, and had been the one to steal the Colt.

"We found it right where he said it would be," Dean said.

That got Dad's attention, if only to make him narrow his eyes and glance at Cas like he had something to say. Then he turned back to Dean. "Go on," he said impatiently. "Finish the story."

There wasn't much left to say, just how Cas had been captured for disobedience and turned into a human. "No memory, either," Dean said, knowing that that was something Dad was going to ask about. "That's why he couldn't tell us about the Colt, or anything like that. He couldn't remember any of this. Except, well, he could still communicate with the angels, sort of. He knew that the angels were interested in us, at least, so he tracked us down. And, well, he ended up sticking around for a while. You know how that story goes."

Yeah, Dad knew that story. It'd ended with Dad throwing them out of the motel and telling them not to come back. And from the look on Dad's face, he remembered that part, too.

"Dean," Dad said, and seriously, that one word was enough to get Dean bracing himself, waiting to hear what Dad was going to come out with next. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good.

"There hasn't been any movement," Sam suddenly said, and leaned up in between the front two seats, gesturing toward the house. Dean glanced at it, for the first time in who-knows-how-long. That one light in the upstairs window was off now, but other than that, Sam was right, there hadn't been any change. There was absolutely nothing about it that made it look any different than the rest of the houses on the street. "No static from the radio, either, and the streetlight's been holding steady. Between the two of those, we should have plenty or warning when Azazel decides to show up."

Dad frowned at Sam for the interruption, but Dean knew exactly what Sam was trying to say here. And he was pretty certain that Dad knew it, too.

Cas cleared his throat, and joined in. "We don't know when he will be arriving, though," he said. "I suggest that we all remain alert, and keep our eyes on the house. After all, we don't know for sure how obvious the signs will be. It will be best for all four of us to be alert."

"Yeah, what Cas said," Sam added.

And Dean would've sworn that Cas speaking up was only going to make things worse. But John just looked at Sam for a long minute, then nodded.

"Fine," he said. "Let's get back to the watch. And all of you keep your eyes open. You'd better not let Azazel slip past you because someone's not paying attention."

"Yes, sir," Dean said quickly, and leaned forward, so that he could stare past Dad and keep his eyes locked on the house.

Dad nodded once, then turned around in his seat, looking back at Sam. "And give me the Colt," he said.

Dean stiffened, and slowly looked away from the house, toward the two of them, waiting to see what was going to happen next. Whatever happened, he couldn't imagine that Sam's reaction was going to be good.

Sure enough, Sam's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms tight over his chest. "Why?"

"Because Azazel's going to be coming tonight," Dad snapped, "and when he comes, I want to make sure that we're prepared."

"I know," Sam said. "That's why I'm carrying the Colt, so that I can shoot him as soon as he appears. It's the same reason why Dean's got the blade."

Cas also turned himself so that he was facing Dad fully, and he had the same narrow-eyed unhappy look as Sam. "We decided that Sam should be the one to carry the Colt, as he was the one who Azazel will be targeting. That means that we know for sure that Azazel is going to have to approach him. We don't have that guarantee with anyone else."

John lifted his head in half a nod, almost like he was acknowledging that, though Dean noticed that he didn't glance over at Cas at all. Instead, he looked Sam in the eyes, and repeated, "Azazel's going to be here tonight." He paused, like he was letting that sink it, then added, "And when he comes, I want to be sure that the person holding the gun is going to take the damn shot."

Sam stiffened, his hands balling into fists, sitting up even taller in his seat and leaning forward, towards Dad. "I'm going to take the shot," he said, through gritted teeth.

"Like you did when you and Dean were sent to kill him, and your shot missed?" John asked, voice tight. "Or the way that you did when I told you to shoot?"

Dean could see the exact moment that the words hit Sam, because he grimaced and looked away. Dad just held out his hand, and waited.

After a moment, Sam took a deep breath, then pulled the Colt out of his jacket. He scowled, but he handed it off to Dad. "Fine," he said shortly. "You take the shot."

Dad nodded and turned back around in his seat, holding the Colt in his lap, turning it over in his hands. Dean frowned, then reached and pulled Cas' blade out of his pocket. "Here," he said, spinning it in his hand, then holding it out toward Sam handle first. "You take this, then."

Sam glanced at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No way."

"Take it," Dean insisted, and shook the blade at Sam a little.

"No," Sam said, and he definitely had that stubborn look on him now. Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam shook his head again. "I'm not taking that, Dean," he said flatly. "You keep it."

"Don't be a stubborn bitch," Dean snapped. "Just take the damn knife and use it to gank Azazel when he comes after you."

Sam didn't even respond, just turned his head away from Dean completely, arms once again crossed over his chest.

Cas leaned forward and touched one hand against Dean's arm. "Keep it," he said in a low voice, quiet enough that Dean doubted anybody else could hear him. "We all know that you're the one who's going to be in the most danger."

Well, that was a load of bullshit. "Sam-" Dean began, copying Cas and keeping his voice low.

"-might be taken," Cas finished for him, "but if he is, then we will find him. What the demons will do to you would be far worse, Dean. Keep the blade. Protect yourself." He squeezed Dean's arm as he spoke, and fuck, how was Dean supposed to argue when Cas was staring at him with that intense look on his face?

Dean let out a long breath, and he wasn't any happier about this than Sam had been about giving Dad the Colt, but he stuck the blade back into his pocket.

"Thank you," Cas said, giving Dean's arm another small squeeze before letting go and leaning back in his seat.

Dean didn't even acknowledge that, just turned and went back to staring hard at the house.

Okay, fine, he'd hold onto the blade. But in that case, there was no way that he was going to leave Sam alone today, not for a moment. Azazel wasn't going to be getting Dean's brother. That, Dean was absolutely certain of.

* * *

><p>Sam fell asleep around four in the morning.<p>

Dean had seen him nodding off for the past couple hours, even though he kept rubbing his eyes and shaking himself awake. Not exactly surprising – Sam had ended up doing most of the digging the day before, and they hadn't actually grabbed more than a few hours of sleep before driving down here. No wonder the guy was barely keeping himself awake. Hell, Dean was pretty sure that he should be feeling the same way, except for some reason, he couldn't even imagine shutting his eyes.

"Why don't you nap for a bit?" Dean had suggested around three o'clock, glancing over his shoulder at Sam. "We were going to take shifts sleeping anyway, right?" That was what they usually did with stakeouts that were going to last this long, especially since they both knew that they could go from completely unconscious to fully awake in the space of about half a second when they needed to. And for a moment, Dean had thought that Sam was going to agree. Then his eyes had flicked over to Dad for about half a second, and he'd shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine," he'd said, and turned toward the house again, that stubborn set back to his shoulders, the kind that made it obvious that Dean wouldn't be changing his mind for anything.

Now, an hour later, he was fast asleep, though it was obvious that he hadn't planned on that. He was leaning forward, his cheek smooshed against the back of the driver's seat and probably drooling.

Dad glanced back at Sam, and obviously saw that he was asleep. He didn't say anything, not right away, but the silence felt different now. More like the calm before the storm, and Dean could already feel the winds start to pick up speed. When the storm came, he was pretty sure it was going to be a fucking hurricane.

"So," Dad finally said to Dean. "Angels, huh."

Dean stiffened slightly, and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "It's crazy, I know. Trust me, I know. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself.

"But okay," Dad said after a moment. "Let's say that I believe you, and that this is true. We both know that there's some strange shit out there." Dean nodded slowly, watching his dad carefully. There had to be something else coming. He was pretty sure that there was no way that Dad would just agree and leave it at that. And sure enough, a second later, Dad added, "You realize that this just proves my point?"

Dean frowned. "What point?"

"You're telling me that your boyfriend is an angel," Dad said, voice flat. "If that's true, then that's a damned big thing to not know about someone that you wanted to bring into this hunt with us."

Dean would have responded, but from the way that Cas stiffened and shifted in his seat, it was obvious that he had something to say. So Dean waited, and a moment later, Cas leaned forward, once again moving so that he was between Dean and Dad's seats. "It was not as though I was trying to hide myself from your sons," he said, his voice low, but Dean could definitely hear an edge to it, one that made it clear that Cas didn't like Dad any more than Dad liked him. "If I had known the truth about what I was, I can guarantee that I would have told them immediately."

"But you didn't," Dad said, as if that was the end all be all of this argument, like nothing else would move him. "And that's not the point," he added to Dean. "The point is, you're claiming to know this guy, but you didn't know something like this. That doesn't exactly say anything good about your judgment, Dean."

"What are you implying?" Cas asked, his voice hard.

Dad shook his head.

Dean's hands clenched into fists, and he waited.

"I'm not implying anything," Dad said. "I'm telling you that whatever you're doing, including him was a mistake. You can't just drag anyone you want into this hunt with us, Dean. Especially it's hard enough already to know who you can trust, and clearly you don't know how to make that distinction."

Dean clenched his jaw, and maybe he would have said something in response, but that was when he heard it. Static crackling over the radio.

Azazel.

Dean hurried to reach into his jacket pocket. He didn't draw the knife, not yet, but he grabbed the handle, ready to yank it out at a moment's notice.

"Dean?" Cas asked, and grabbed Dean's elbow, gripping him tight. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean spun to look at him, about to demand to know how the fuck he didn't hear the static. It was louder now, practically ringing in his ears, and it didn't seem possible that anyone in the car could miss it. Hell, he didn't even know how Sam could sleep through that noise, but it didn't matter - they'd have to shake him awake now and take off running, get into that house before Azazel-

Dean stopped, staring at Cas' face.

There was a wound slowly carving itself across the side of Cas' face, blood rolling down his cheek and dripping off the end of his chin. Cas didn't seem to notice it, though, because all he did was just keep staring at Dean, head tilted and nothing but concern in his expression.

Dean slowly turned his head to glance to the side. Sam was the same - the skin along his cheeks ripping itself apart, slowly splitting to show the muscles and bones underneath, but Sam's eyes were still closed, and he obviously wasn't bothered by it.

Dean took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Okay, so the hallucinations were back. Awesome.

"Nothing," Dean muttered, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head. His hand was still clenched around the handle of his knife, and he quickly let go of it and yanked his hand out of his pocket. "Thought I heard something."

And of course Cas and Dad were still looking at him weird, Dad giving him this strange look like Dean had just fucked up, Cas' eyes widening as he realized what Dean meant. Because of course Cas would figure it out. Fuck.

"Dean-" Cas began.

"It's fine, Cas," Dean said, sharper than he'd intended, and Cas cut himself off immediately, frowning but not saying anything else.

Dean took a deep breath and leaned forward, scrubbing the heels of one hand against his eyes, the slowly lifted his head and looked back toward his dad. Part of him felt like he should defend Cas, to say something about how they wouldn't even have the Colt or the blade if it wasn't for Cas – hell, Dean and Dad wouldn't both be alive right now if it wasn't for Cas.

Dean knew how Dad was going to react if Dean tried to point that out, though, so he just said, "Didn't we decide to worry about this later? _After_ Azazel's been ganked?"

Dad frowned, and opened his mouth to respond.

Sam spoke first.

"Dean's right," he said, and Dean had thought that he was still asleep, but when he glanced back, Sam was pushing himself upright. And it was obvious that he'd just woken, since he was blinking hard and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, but he was already managing to level a glare at Dad. "I'm serious. We're going to be in this car for another twenty hours, or until Azazel shows up, whatever. If you've got a problem, you can save it for tomorrow."

Dad scowled. Dean could practically see the arguments forming in his head, ready to be snapped at Sam, and Dean was already bracing himself to play the middleman and try to get the two of them to calm down. And on top of that, Dean was pretty sure the hallucinations were getting worse – Dad's face twisting, Sam's skin rotting away, the Impala constricting on them like they were going to be crushed to death. It was hard enough trying to focus on keeping a straight face without adding on anything else.

Then Dad let out a long breath, and said, "Fine." From the sound of it, it took actual physical effort for him to hold himself back, but he didn't say anything else to Sam, or to Dean. He just turned back to watching the house without giving either of them a second glance.

Dean took a breath, and released it slowly, sagging back in his seat.

Okay, one thing less to worry about. For now, at least. He'd take it.

And he could tell that Cas and Sam were both still watching him, those worried looks back on their faces – Dean didn't even have to see their faces to be able to tell that one – but at least none of them asked about it. Dean didn't even look over in their directions, just in case that would be enough to trigger all of their concern and worry and shit like that. Instead, he just stared at the house hard enough to make it blur, and waited for the hallucination to stop twisting the world in front of his eyes.


	35. Part 2 Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

By about ten AM, the tension in the car had risen to an almost-unbearable point.

Dean kept his eyes locked on the house, and didn't say a word. Neither did anyone else in the car, not for the past hour at least. And even then, that had only been because Sam and Cas had made a quick bathroom run down to the local gas station – that was the one good thing about having so many eyes, it meant that they could afford to have half their numbers leave once in a while, even if they still didn't dare get out of the car that often, since they didn't want to attract attention.

Dean had handed over the angel blade to Sam before he and Cas went. Sam had frowned and protested, but Dean had been firm on that one – if Sam was going to be going anywhere, then either he had to be armed, or he had to be with someone carrying a weapon. Sam had finally given in and taken it, though he'd practically shoved it back into Dean's hands the moment that they returned. Dean had grudgingly sheathed it in his jacket, then taken the coffee that Cas had held out to him and downed half of it in one gulp. Since then, nobody had said a single word.

It was going to be a long day.

Stakeouts were supposed to be silent. Hell, the last thing they wanted was for them to start yacking away and miss some sign of the demon's appearance. But this was different than the kind of silence that he and Sam usually shared. It was tenser. Way more stressful. Dean was pretty sure that the next time somebody even opened their mouth to speak, all four of them were going to explode.

The one good thing was that the hallucinations had at least gone away after the first ten minutes or so. Well, mostly. Every once in a while he got a glimpse of something floating in the corner of his eye, or of one of the others transforming into some sort of fanged beast. It was fucking with him, honestly. How the hell was he supposed to be watching for a demon when his mind still thought that this was a good idea to play make believe with him?

No way was he going to be able to spot when the demon actually came. He figured that the other three were going to have to handle that part, and he was going to have to follow their lead.

At least it wasn't as bad as it could've been. If Dean had been hallucinating all the time, he was pretty sure he would have lost it already.

Wait, scratch that. Actually, he was positive that he would've lost it by now in that case. As it was, he could feel the silence prickling his skin, and he was about two seconds away from scratching off his skin.

Okay, then, new plan.

Dean cleared his throat. "Do you got an FBI badge with you, Dad?" he asked. He figured that Dad had to. He was definitely dressed nice enough to be an agent – he must've had the same idea that they'd had.

Dad nodded, and Dean pulled open the glove compartment and started rooting through, pulling out the first three badges that he found that had the right pictures, not bothering to look for a matching set. "Okay, then," he said, pocketing the one badge and tossing the other two into the backseat, towards Sam and Cas. "I say that it's late enough for the FBI to be paying her a visit, don't you think."

"And what exactly do we say to her?" Cas asked.

Dean shrugged. "We'll make something up." Honestly, he didn't give a fuck what the story was, as long as it got them into her house. Besides, he and Sam were good at improv. He figured that if they went up their and started bouncing ideas off each other – and if Cas just kept his mouth shut and didn't actually say anything – then they'd find a way to get into her house, no problem. Staying there all day might be a problem, but worse case scenario, they could always come back out to the car and wait here if she tried to kick them out of the house.

But Dean was pretty sure that he couldn't stay in the Impala for another second. He'd go insane.

"Yeah, awesome," Sam said immediately, and quickly climbed out of the car, which made Dean think that he'd gotten just as sick of the sitting and waiting as Dean had. Dean followed his brother out, and the two of them headed up to the house without looking back, leaving Dad and Cas to hurry behind.

Dean wasn't entirely sure if Dad was going to approve of this sudden change of plan, or if he'd say that they should've stuck it out in the car and just watched for the rest of the day. The thought was enough to make it look like the ground was rising and falling under his feet, and he almost missed a step because how the ground looked to him was way different than where it actually was. But he recovered quickly, then took a breath and kept going, telling himself that he wasn't going to let these stupid hallucinations get in his way. And he definitely wasn't going to let them trip him up like a complete idiot.

Sam rang the doorbell, and they waited. After a minute, the door opened, revealing a girl who looked to be about Sam's age. Or, Dean guessed that she was the same age as Sam, based on what little he could see of her. She was wearing an oversized hoodie with the hood pulled up, covering half of her face, though Dean thought that he could see strands of dirty blonde hair sticking out of the hood. It was hard to tell anything else about her, considering that he couldn't even see her eyes. Still, though, he decided to go out on a limb and guess that this was their girl.

"Lily Baker?" he asked, giving her the most charming smile that he could manage and holding out his FBI badge towards her. He didn't introduce himself, mainly because he hadn't bothered to even glance at which badge he'd grabbed, or what his name was today. Instead, he just asked, "Do you mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?"

She crossed her arms tight over her chest, staring at the badge – or, at least, she inclined her head like she was looking at the badge, though it was hard to tell for sure. Dean was holding it out enough that she could take it from him if she wanted a closer look, but she didn't try to. Instead, she just said, "Agent Ace Frehley. Isn't that the singer from KISS?"

Sam stepped on Dean's foot, and Dean resisted the urge to glare at his brother – Sam always insisted that the celebrity aliases were a bad idea, and no way was Dean going to let him start thinking that he'd been right. Instead, he just kept his smile in place. "Yeah, I know, my parents were big fans. My dad couldn't resist."

She just nodded, not looking like she was really paying attention, and didn't question it further. Instead, she just took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, then stepped back. "Come in," she said, her voice soft enough that Dean could barely hear it.

"Are there any other family members currently in the house?" Sam asked as he led the way into the living room. Lily followed behind all four of them, her arms still wrapped tight around herself, and hanging way back, at least ten feet behind all of them.

Lily paused for a moment, staring at Sam for a long moment before finally shaking her head. "No," she said slowly. "My parents are out for the weekend." Then she cleared her throat, and gestured them all toward the couch over along one wall. "Go ahead and sit over there," she said, and gingerly lowered herself into the chair across the room from where she'd directed them.

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. Okay, clearly something was up with this girl – aside from the fact that she was one of the psychics, and obviously had demon blood in her. And jeez, that was the exact last thing that Dean needed to be reminding himself of right then, not when he still had to keep interacting with this girl for the rest of the day.

After a second, Sam just shrugged, and the two of them sat down on the couch beside each other, while Cas perched on the arm of the couch, next to Dean. Dad chose not to sit at all, and instead leaned back against the wall. His arms were crossed, and he looked casual enough, though Dean knew him well enough to be able to see that he was ready to whip out the Colt at a moment's notice.

"So," Lily said slowly. She was sitting with her legs tight together, her hands in her lap, one hand picking at a loose thread on her hoodie sleeve. She didn't look at them. "You're here to talk to me?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, somewhat awkwardly, and exchanged another glance with Sam. When he'd first come in here, his plan had basically been to invent a story about a murder, and a witness seeing someone who matched her description at the scene of the crime. It wasn't the best story in the world, and it'd fall apart the moment that she got on her computer to Google whether this supposed murder had actually taken place, but he figured it would serve its purpose. She wouldn't find out about it being faked until after they were gone, and it'd take a while to double check her alibi. Police formalities and all that. And of course, they wouldn't be able to leave her alone until everything was cleared up. Hell, if they played their cards right, they might even be able to put her under "surveillance" for the rest of the night.

Now, though, Dean wasn't so sure if that was the alley they should go down. Mainly because she looked guilty as fuck, and didn't even seem surprised when they'd showed up at her door. It was more like she looked resigned, maybe even like she'd been waiting for this to happen.

There was definitely something suspicious going on here, and until they knew what it was, Dean wasn't entirely sure what to say. Maybe they should've taken the time to do a little more research on Lily Baker before they'd rolled in here.

Sam looked like he was just as uncertain as Dean felt, meaning that he wasn't going to be any help. Dad was just watching, eyes narrowed, looking like he was content with letting Dean and Sam handle the talking while his eyes darted around, probably mapping out escape routes or watching for any demonic activity. That meant that Dean was probably going to be on his own with this one.

So of course Cas would be the one who decided to speak up.

"You look nervous," he said, tilting his head and looking at her carefully. "Have you done something that warrants your nervousness?"

Okay, Dean had to admit, that one was actually a pretty good question.

"What?" Lily asked immediately, then shook her head hard enough that it made her hood slide backwards, so Dean could see her face for the first time. "No," she said quickly, and yeah, that was pretty much the perfect way to guarantee that none of them actually believed her.

"Is there anything that you want to tell us?" Sam asked, leaning forward to fix her with some intense look, the kind that usually worked for getting people to crack. Clearly he was following Cas' strategy of asking vague questions until they figured out what the hell was going on, which seemed like a pretty good idea to Dean. Better than messing up and saying something to reveal that they didn't actually know what was going on.

She paused and frowned at Sam, just like she had before, but shook her head again. "I don't know anything, alright?" she said, and this time her voice was sharper, more insistent. "I've gone over this before with the other agents. I don't know what happened. She just-" Her voice broke off, and she shook her head and swallowed, then said, "It just happened."

This girl was getting fishier and fishier by the moment. "We just need to hear your side of the story," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Why don't you start from the beginning?" he suggested. "Tell us what you were doing on the day of- On the day that this happened."

Lily had already opened her mouth to respond to Dean, but now she snapped it closed and leaned forward, looking hard at Sam. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, then suddenly widened. "I know you," she said, voice sharp, body stiffening. "You're the guy who called me to say that I was going to be kidnapped by demons."

John's head immediately snapped toward the side, giving Sam an odd look. Sam frowned, but Dean had to give him credit, he didn't shift in his seat or do anything else to make himself look guilty. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, and sounded confused enough that he almost had Dean half convinced, even though Dean had heard Sam make the call himself.

Lily, though, just shook her head and insisted, "No, I recognize your voice. I listened to that voicemail a hundred times, I memorized everything that you said. It was definitely you."

The four of them all exchanged a glance. Or, well, Dean exchanged a glance with Sam and Cas, while Dad mostly narrowed his eyes and didn't look at all happy. And Cas, for the most part, seemed like he was just utterly baffled, looking at them with wide eyes like he was trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do.

For a moment, Dean thought that Sam was going to continue protesting, trying to convince her that it hadn't actually been him. Based on the way that she kept watching him, the suspicious look practically tattooed on her face, he wasn't going to have much luck though. And Dean could practically see the moment that Sam realized that, because he quickly switched gears and said, "But you know that I was telling the truth, don't you? You wouldn't have listened to it so often if you didn't."

Lily shifted in her chair, and from the way that she grimaced, Dean would say that Sam was spot on with that one.

Dean figured that it was about time that he jumped into this, give Sam a hand with convincing her. "And you have some sort of power, don't you? Something that started appearing a little less than a year ago?" Again, she didn't answer, but Dean just spread his hands and said, "Hey, no point in denying it. You would've called the cops on us if you didn't."

Lily scowled, but nodded. "Fine," she snapped. "I know what you're talking about, okay? That doesn't mean that I believe about demons being after my ass."

Sam shrugged. "Can you think of any better explanation?"

Her glare kicked up about a dozen notches, but she didn't say a word.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean said, and stood, pulling a container of salt out of his pocket. It wasn't a whole lot, and he'd have to go grab the big bag out of the Impala if he wanted to do more than piss a demon off, but it was a start. "So what do you say the five of us plan out a strategy to try to figure out how to get you out of this alive?"

For a long minute, she didn't move, just sat there glaring at the four of them.

Then, finally, she nodded.

"You're going to have to explain this a whole lot better," she said, voice hard. "Like telling me how the demons are involved in all of this, or why you're suddenly so sure that they're going to be here to take me now."

"I can do that," Sam promised, and immediately launched into the explanation of this whole mess. And Dean was pretty sure that he was going to go with the short version, but it still sounded like it'd take longer than Dean wanted to stick around to listen to, so he didn't bother to sit back down while Sam rambled on. Instead, he wandered his way through the house, mentally noting all of the different entrances they'd have to block with salt if they wanted to barricade the house, trying to map out the route that the demons might take when they came to steal her away.

A moment later, he felt Cas walk up behind him, his arm pressed against the side of Dean's. Neither of them said anything, but Dean took a moment to glance over and nod at Cas, and Cas smiled slightly as they continued through the house.

They ended up back in the living room just as Sam was finishing up his sparknotes version of Azazel's story. Lily was curled up in a ball in the armchair by now, her arms wrapped even tighter around herself in a way that made her look way smaller than she had before, and that was saying something. But her eyes were locked on Sam's face, and judging by the way she was staring, Dean would say that she realized that everything that Sam had told her was true.

"So, will you let us stay here and protect you?" Sam asked. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and watching her closely.

The answer had to be yes. Who in the right mind would know that monsters were after them, know that there were people who wanted to keep them safe, and still turn this offer down?

Apparently Lily was exactly the kind of person to do that, because her mouth pressed together into a thin line, and she looked away. She didn't outright say no, but that sure as hell wasn't a yes.

Well, whatever. They didn't have time to wait around for some girl to decide whether she wanted them to save her ass. Dean turned to Sam, not waiting for her to make up her mind, and said, "We should decide how much demon-proofing we want to do." On one hand, they had to find a way to keep this girl safe, even if she was doing the emo thing and looked like she didn't want to be rescued. That had to be the priority, meaning that they needed enough salt and sigils to keep her out of trouble. But at the same time, if they wanted to kill Azazel, then tonight would be the best night to do it. And for that, it would be better if they didn't do anything to keep the demons out, so that Azazel never realized that anything was suspicious. Meaning that they were going to have to decide which strategy they wanted to go with.

Okay, maybe that would be something to talk to Lily about, considering that she was the one who would actually be in danger. Only if she was going to cooperate, though.

"We should also ensure that you cannot be possessed," Cas said, sending a concerned look in Lily's direction. There was a blue pen sitting on the coffee table, and Cas picked it up and stepped toward her. "There are sigils that can be drawn on the skin in order to prevent demons from being able to possess you. I can-"

Cas was maybe five feet away from the chair when Lily's head quickly jerked up, and she shook her head wildly, shoving her hands behind her back and flinching away. "Don't touch me," she snapped, so fiercely that it made Cas freeze immediately, the worried look on his face immediately tripling.

"Why?" Cas asked, and held the pen up so that she could see it, like he was trying to reassure her that it wasn't dangerous. "I understand that you may not like having someone draw on your skin, but I guarantee that I will do it quickly, and it will do much to keep you from harm."

"You don't want to touch me," Lily said, and this time, there was a different edge in her voice, like her words were less of a command and more like a warning.

Sam scooted forward slightly in his seat. "Why not?"

Lily's mouth twisted. "Because people touch me and they die," she spat. "That's what my power is, okay? So trust me when I say that you should stay back."

Dean quickly backed up a few steps, though Cas just stayed where he was, considering her. "Alright, then," he said, and held then pen out toward you. "I'm going to throw this lightly in your direction, if that is okay?" Lily frowned, and didn't say anything. After a few seconds, Cas evidentially decided to take that as a yes, because he tossed the pen into her lap, then unbuttoned the top of his shirt and pulled it aside to show her his tattoo. "You can draw this symbol onto your own skin, then," he said, then tilted his head and added, "Actually, I believe that we have charms in the Impala that were engraved with this symbol. It wouldn't be permanent, but that might be a better way to protect you. That way, we won't run the risk of you drawing the sigil incorrectly."

Lily stared down at the pen in her lap, and made no move to pick it up, or to do anything with it at all.

Cas frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"You don't have to help me, you know," she said harshly.

Cas' frown just deepened, and he shook his head, looking completely confused. "Azazel will take you if we don't," he said slowly. "That's reason enough for you to need our help."

Lily shook her head, which wasn't a surprise to Dean. He'd known that that wasn't what she'd meant. He also knew that they didn't have time for any of this martyr, I-don't-deserve-to-be-saved bullshit, so he decided to cut right to the chase. "Listen, we've been trying to kill this demon for out whole lives, and it's going to be here, coming after you, tonight. So sorry, but I don't care what you have to say about this, because we're not leaving until this bastard is dead."

Cas and Sam both turned and frowned at Dean, definitely looking like they didn't approve, like he should've been more sensitive to her feelings or some shit. Lily, though, nodded slowly. "Fine," she said. Her voice was stiff, and she wrapped her arms tighter around herself, but at least she was agreeing. She glanced over all four of them, her eyes flickering from person to person, then toward the salt that Dean was still holding. Finally, she took a deep breath, and raised her eyes to meet Dean's.

"So," she asked, "what do we do first?"


	36. Part 2 Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

Waiting in the house wasn't any better than waiting in the car had been.

It was about one o'clock, and the demons still hadn't come. Not that that was really surprising – they still had another eleven hours left in the day – but Dean had been hoping that Azazel would come sometime earlier than this, so that they wouldn't be stuck waiting for so many freakin' hours. Of course they should've known that the demon wouldn't be so considerate.

They'd already laid down a circle of salt in the center of the living room, ready for Lily to jump into at a moment's notice (she'd flatly refused to spend the entire day sitting in the center of it). Beyond that, they'd decided against any other barricades. The last thing they wanted was to do anything to warn Azazel that they were here, and salt lines around the foundation would be a definite giveaway. Lily had looked a little nervous when they'd made that decision, though the moment that Sam had offered to slap down some devil's traps, she'd shaken her head. "Do whatever will give you the best chance of killing this bastard," she'd said, her voice just a little too intense to be talking about the death of some demon she hadn't even known about before today. Dean hadn't asked, but he'd side-eyed her the past few hours that they'd been waiting, trying to figure out what her deal was.

He doubted that any of them would be able to figure it out, though. She looked like she would be flip out if any of them said a single word to her.

She'd spent the entire morning curled up with a book in her lap, looking like she was trying way too hard to act natural, even though Dean saw her glance up at the four of them every couple of seconds. Not that she ever said a word to them in all this time that they were waiting, but she definitely wasn't doing as good a job of ignoring them as she was trying to pretend that she was.

Now, though, she suddenly tossed the book aside and jumped to her feet. "I'm going to make something for lunch," she said, then frowned and added, "I guess I'll throw something together for you all, too."

Well, wasn't that nice of her. "Sounds like a plan," Dean said, and he and Sam both pushed to their feet, ready to follow her into the kitchen.

Lily, though, shook her head at them the moment that she saw them move.

"No," she said quickly. "It's weird enough that you guys are just sitting around my house. You're not going to trail behind me everywhere I go, too."

Sam frowned. "You can't go anywhere alone," he protested. "When Azazel-"

She scowled. "Yeah, yeah, the demon's gonna come for me, I need a knight in shining armor to follow me everywhere that I go, I get it," she said, then sighed and gestured him to follow her. "Okay, fine, but just you. The rest of your posse stays here."

Sam hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, that sounds fair, I guess," he said. Lily spun on her heels and left without another word, and without waiting for anyone else to comment, and Sam was quick to follow behind her, leaving Dean, Cas, and John alone in the living room.

Oh, god, that was going to end well.

Dean didn't know what to do, so he wandered over to stare at the row of photographs on the mantle, trying to act like being alone with his boyfriend and his dad wasn't at all uncomfortable. He was damn sure that he wasn't doing a good job, but whatever, that didn't mean that he was going to stop trying to fake it.

The photos were mostly of Lily and one other girl, who couldn't have been more than a couple years older, and looked enough like Lily that Dean figured that she had to be a sister. There were all sorts of pictures of the two of them, ranging from some pretty cute ones of them as kids in matching princess costumes, to one of the two of them posing at what had to be the sister's wedding, considering that she was dressed in this gigantic wedding dress like something out of a celebrity wedding – Dean didn't think anyone wore stuff that puffy and huge in real life. That one had definitely been taken after Lily's powers had kicked in. For one, Lily looked exactly the same as she did now, so it had to be a recent picture. And more than that, pretty much all of the pictures showed Lily and her sister grinning and standing arm in arm. In this one, Lily had on a long-sleeved jacket and gloves, and was standing at least three feet away, a scowl etched onto her face.

Dean grimaced, and quickly turned away from that one. They were here to focus on killing the demon – the last thing that he needed was to get wrapped up in thinking about how much this power must've made her life suck.

Of course, the other pictures weren't exactly good for thinking happy thoughts. Sure, some of them looked pretty sweet, like one of Lily as a little girl, tackle hugging some other little girl, both of them looking like they were seconds away from collapsing to the ground together. And there was another one a few pictures down, Lily and the same girl. They were older in this one, all dressed up in what Dean was pretty certain were prom dresses, hugging each other just as tight, the other girl planting a kiss on Lily's cheek.

The pictures were weird, though. Because it wasn't like he knew Lily all that well, but just in what he'd seen of her that morning, it was hard to picture her ever smiling about anything, let alone looking as happy as she did in these pictures. And that's when Dean decided that he'd better step away from the mantle and find some other way to keep himself entertained for the rest of the wait, otherwise this was just going to get depressing.

It wasn't like there was anything else for him to do, though, except circle the room and try to make himself interested in the paintings on the walls. The TV and radio were both playing in the background, just loud enough that they'd be able to hear it if it turned to static, but neither of them were playing anything good. And he could try talking, but honestly, he figured that the fact that Dad and Cas were both sitting in silence was the best that he was going to get. He wasn't about to risk jeopardizing that and having this turn into an all-out fight. But that meant that there really wasn't anything to do while they waited, except try to plan out their fighting strategy for when Azazel finally showed up.

All in all, it was almost a relief when he felt his cell phone ring about twenty minutes after Lily and Sam had headed off together. Of course, then he took one look at the caller ID, and all of his relief drained away.

He hadn't bothered to put Amelia's number into his phone, but he still recognized it the moment that he saw it.

Immediately, he turned and looked over at Cas, his finger hovering over the "end call" button. Because he still remembered what Cas had said last time that Amelia had called, and he was damn sure that it still applied. Cas wasn't her husband, he couldn't give her what she wanted, talking to her would only cause pain, all of that. And he was right. They'd decided not to talk to her, and Dean was sure that it was the best decision. So he nodded to himself, and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

Apparently he enjoyed torturing himself, though, because he barely made it another two minutes before he pulled out his phone to check it again.

She'd left him a voicemail. Dean scowled, his hand clenching around the phone. And it was so obvious that he was going to regret this later – it wasn't even up for debate, he just knew it – but he clicked the button to play it, then raised the phone to his ear.

"Dean?" Amelia said, and Dean wasn't entirely sure what he was hearing in her voice, whether it was anger or sadness or fear or some twisted combination of the three. Whatever it was, there was definitely a lot of it when she continued, "I know that you have to know something about what happened to Jimmy. You disappeared the same day that he did- You haven't done anything to look for him, even though you'd come to visit him in the hospital- Just call me back right now. Seriously, anything you know, just call me back and tell me, alright? You owe me that much." The voicemail ended there, and Dean swallowed hard before returning his phone to his pocket.

Amelia had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. He did know something about where her husband was. And she was right about something else, too – considering that Cas had stolen her husband's body, unintentionally or not, it did mean that they pretty much owed her.

"Dean?" Cas asked, standing and taking a step toward Dean. He reached out and laid one hand against Dean's shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

Dean's first instinct was to say that yup, everything was grand. Then he frowned, and thought better of it. "Let's go," he said, grabbed Cas by the sleeve of his trench coat and yanking him out of the living room. He didn't head for the kitchen, since that was where Lily and Sam still were, so instead, the two of them ended up in this fancy dining room, the kind of room that looked way too nice for anyone to ever eat in it. Whatever. It would serve their purpose, and at least it was somewhat private.

"Dean?" Cas asked, frowning. "What happened?"

Dean thought about trying to explain the message, but that seemed like too much work. Instead, he just pulled out his phone and set the voicemail up to play again, then handed it over to Cas so that he could hear for himself.

A frown slowly formed on Cas' face as he listened to the message. When it was over, he lowered the phone and handed it back to Dean, but didn't say anything for another moment.

"She isn't going to believe us if we tell her the truth," Cas finally said. "Perhaps if I still had my angel powers, then we could convince her that her husband is gone. As it is, we aren't going to be able to explain ourselves."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, shoving the phone back into his pocket and shrugging. "I just thought, you're the one who's wearing her husband. You should at least know that she's still calling me."

"Thank you," Cas said, though he sounded too upset to be actually grateful, even though Dean knew that he meant it. And shit, maybe Dean had been wrong about having him listen to the message, after all. Especially if it was just going to make him feel worse about not being able to do anything.

"So, what's the plan?" Dean asked after a moment, because whether or not he should've told Cas, the guy already knew about it. That meant it was probably his place to decide what he wanted to do about it.

Cas opened his mouth, then closed it, then finally said, "I don't believe that there's anything that we can do. The best solution would be to avoid complicating their lives further. As I told you before, I know that leaving them without answers is going to be painful for them, but speaking to them will only make it worse." His frown deepened, and he added, "I suppose that you should continue to not answer."

Dean nodded. "This is my third cell phone," he said. "It's the one that I don't use as often as the other two. I could just get rid of it. Then she won't have any way of reaching me." The words left a sour taste in his mouth, but like Cas had said, what else could they do? It wasn't like Jimmy was ever coming back – and Dean was sick enough to be grateful for that, since it meant that Cas was going to stick around. But if they couldn't help them, then what else was there to do?

"I still plan on finding a way to repay them," Cas added. If he had any idea how he was going to do this, he didn't say, but he squared his shoulders and looked pretty determined.

"Good idea," Dean said. He patted his pocket where the phone was, then nodded again. "Okay, I'll toss the phone as soon as we're done here, and you keep working on your big repayment plan. In the meantime, we should go check on Sam and Lily." It wasn't like they could've been taken without the three of them knowing – no matter how strong or how sneaky Azazel was, Sam was a hell of a good hunter, and he'd at least be able to put up a fight. Plus, the fact that all of Ansen's roommates had been murdered on the day that he and Andy had gone missing made Dean think that the kidnappings weren't exactly sneaky. Still, though, it was making him antsy to be away from Sam for so long. He didn't usually like to hover over his brother like some paranoid idiot, but leaving him alone when they knew that the demon would be here soon was just stupid.

Cas nodded, but his face was distant, like he was still thinking about Amelia. Dean didn't try to break his concentration, just grabbed his elbow and led him out of the room.

* * *

><p>Dean spent the entire day expecting an explosion. What kind, he wasn't entirely sure. It could be a metaphorical one when Sam or Dad or both finally lost hold of their tempers. Or it could come from Lily, who still didn't look like she was happy about having them around, even if she'd relaxed a little after she and Sam had come out of the kitchen to tell them lunch was ready. Or hell, maybe it'd even be a literal explosion – after all, Azazel definitely seemed like the kind of dramatic bastard who'd want to break in with a bang. Whatever way, Dean was sure that something huge was going to happen any second.<p>

And for most of the day, he'd been proven wrong.

Dad had barely said a word this whole day, mainly pacing around the room with one hand on the Colt, looking like he was too focused to even think about anything else. Sam looked like he was making a point of not even glancing in Dad's direction, and alternated between talking with Lily – Dean never actually heard what they were saying – and discussing more angel lore with Cas in a low voice, though Dean wasn't entirely sure what there was left to say at this point. Lily's family had some books on the shelves, and sometimes they got bored enough to take a look through them, though Dean's one attempt at reading one of them barely lasted ten minutes before he tossed it to the side. Don't get him wrong, he loved McCarthy and all, but he was jumpy enough that he had to read each page three times before he managed to absorb any of the meaning. Besides, a story about an apocalyptic wasteland seemed just a little too relevant for him to actually enjoy it.

But they managed to get through the day without any disasters, whether literal or self made. Now, though, it was eleven fifty-five, meaning that there was no time left. Five minutes or less, and Azazel would be here.

"Maybe you got the wrong person?" Lily suggested, breaking the silence that had fallen over the five of them. She was sitting in the circle of salt now, clutching tight to an iron fire poker that she had chosen as her weapon of choice for when the demons came. "Maybe it's not actually my turn to be stolen? You could have miscalculated?"

"No," Sam said. He was holding his gun in front of him with both hands. It was fully loaded with salt rounds, ready to fire at any demon who came their way, and there was an iron dagger on the table beside him, where he could grab it easy if he needed it. "I checked the dates about three times. You're definitely next in line." He paused, then added, "Dad wasn't working with us when we figured this out, and he still chose you as the next victim. We're definitely right about this."

"Oh," Lily said, and clung tighter to the poker, her face perfectly impassive, like that was supposed to hide the fact that she was obviously terrified.

Dean glanced over at the clock on the wall. Three minutes until midnight. Clearly Azazel was putting this one off until the last moment. Which didn't make a whole lot of sense to Dean, considering that Lily was first in line for today, and there were usually at least a few minutes gap between each of the kidnappings. Maybe Azazel was changing things up, though, and planned on just grabbing all the kids at once. Or maybe he was running behind schedule, for whatever reason.

Dad had the Colt in his hands, safety off and finger on the trigger. Cas was twirling his iron knife almost absently, like he didn't even realize what his hands were doing, and instead of looking at Lily like the rest of them were, his eyes were firmly locked on Dean. On the TV, some wacky dad was trying to convince his kids that he was still "cool", not a hint of static to be seen.

One minute left.

"Oh god oh god oh god," Lily breathed, like a never-ending litany. She squeezed her eyes closed, both hands tight on the poker.

Dean had the angel blade ready. If any of those hellhound bitches tried to harm any of them – especially Sammy – he was ready and waiting to take them down. As soon as they showed up-

Midnight.

None of them moved, except for Lily. She wasn't speaking any longer, but her lips still soundlessly mouthed the words. Besides that, all of them were still.

Sixty seconds passed, and the clock ticked to twelve-oh-one.

"Could the clock be incorrect?" Cas asked, frowning up at it like it had done him some great personal wrong. "Maybe it is still July 6, even if that clock says otherwise?"

"Or the wrong time zone?" Dean suggested. "Maybe the demons somehow got stuck on Pacific time?"

Sam, though, shook his head. "That's never been an issue before," he said. "I accounted for the different time zones when I worked all of this out, and the kidnappings always happened on the same day in every time zone. I don't know why he'd change that now."

"Yeah, well, I also don't know why he wouldn't show up this time," Dean countered. "You have an explanation for that?"

Lily opened her eyes, and frowned up at them. "Maybe he knows that you were here," she suggested slowly, "and decided that it wasn't worth it to come take me while I had you guys protecting me? I mean, he's got to know that you want him dead. Could be that he doesn't want to take that risk."

Okay, that one actually sounded plausible. Cas, though, immediately shook his head. "Doubtful," he said, which was the exact opposite of what Dean had been thinking. But Cas continued, "Azazel wants us too badly, and he has too many demons at his disposal. If he knew that we were here, it's entirely possible that he would choose not to come himself, but he would still send his followers to kidnap you and Sam, and to kill-" He broke off, and glanced at Dean for just a moment. Then he frowned, and finished "-the rest of us."

"So then," Lily said, still frowning, "what does this mean?"

This time, it was Dad who answered, speaking for the first time in Dean didn't even know how many hours.

"It means that the plan has changed," Dad said. He clicked the safety onto the Colt, but didn't put it back into his pocket, not yet. "Azazel's doing something differently, and we need to figure out what it is."

* * *

><p>They ended up leaving Lily's house a few hours later. Dean hadn't wanted to stick around for that long, but it was a necessary precaution – they needed to be absolutely certain that Azazel wasn't going to be coming just a few hours later. By four AM, though, it seemed obvious that no demons were on their way. So they taught her how to draw a devil's trap, made sure that she had all of their numbers entered into her phone, and left her an extra bag of salt before they hit the road.<p>

It was lucky that the motel was so close, because Dean was absolutely exhausted. He practically stumbled out of the car, and now that the adrenaline from thinking that Azazel was on his way had worn off, he was ready to collapse anywhere he could, he didn't even care if it was a bed or not.

Except that Sam practically ran for his motel room the moment that they arrived, saying something about wanting to get some research done. Which was clearly a sign that Sam was utterly insane – it was almost five in the morning, what the hell was he thinking? But if whatever Sam was doing was important enough to stay awake for, then Dean figured that he could at least up long enough to hear what it was.

That had been about twenty minutes ago. Dean slumped in one of the chairs in Sam's motel room, propping his head up on one hand and watching Dad and Sam work through half-closed eyes. Both of them were typing furiously on their laptops, not slowing down except to read through some research thing or whatever, never even glancing up from their screens. And Dean swore, this was the only time when they two of them even got close to getting along – when they were both too lost in research to even think about the fact that the other person was sitting across from them.

Cas hadn't bothered to even try to stay up and wait to hear when the other two found. The moment that they'd made it into the motel room, he'd collapsed onto Sam's bed and started snoring away, the lucky bastard. And Dean was pretty sure that he wasn't going to last that long without doing the same thing. Because as much as he wanted to wait to hear what they discovered, it also looked like neither of them were going to call it quits anytime soon. Which was ridiculous – Sam had grabbed maybe three hours of uncomfortable sleep in the back of the Impala, and Dad hadn't even slept at all. By all accounts, they should be exhausted, not lost in some crazy research frenzy like this.

No sooner had Dean thought that that Dad grumbled to himself and pushed his laptop away. "Can't find anything useful now," he said. "I'll check back later today, after I've gotten the chance to sleep on it." He stood and grabbed her duffel bag – he'd brought it in from the truck so that he could use the spare single in Sam's room, because that would definitely end well – and threw it over his shoulder, then headed off to the bathroom.

"You should probably head to bed, too," Dean added to Sam. God knew that that was definitely what Dean was going to do next. Honestly, he was starting to regret that he hadn't just let himself collapse as soon as he'd gotten in here. It didn't look like they'd be learning anything good tonight.

Sam yawned and took a moment to rub his eyes, but he shook his head stubbornly. "Just give me a few more minutes," he said. "I want to check out something else."

Dean snorted. "You can do whatever the hell you want, I'm not going to stop you," Dean said. "But if you're wiped tomorrow, it's going to be your own damn fault."

Sam nodded absently, and immediately turned his eyes back to his screen.

Dad came out of the bathroom a minute later, dressed in the sweats and tee shirt he used for sleeping. "You coming to bed?" he asked Sam.

Sam frowned, but nodded reluctantly. "In a minute," he said, then glance over to the side, his frown deepening as he added. "If Dean can drag Cas off of my bed, that is."

Any other time, Dean would have laughed at how utterly put out Sam looked by the fact that Cas had stolen his bed. Now, though, he just glanced over at Dad for a moment, and nodded. "Yeah, I'll drag him back over to our room."

Sam just nodded absently, and clicked something else on his laptop.

Dean took another look at Dad. He was currently folding his dirty clothes and sticking them back into his duffel, not even looking at Dean. And for some reason, Dean found himself clearing his throat. "Dad?"

Dad made a noise to make it clear that he had heard, and nodded for Dean to say more, but he still didn't look over at him.

This was bad timing. Dean knew it. They were all exhausted, it'd been a long day, Sam and Cas were in the room- Name pretty much anything about their situation, and Dean was pretty sure that it'd be considered a good reason not to say anything else about this now. Apparently his mouth didn't get the memo that his brain was sending out, though, because Dean took a deep breath. "Back when I was in the hospital," he said slowly, "we you planning on selling your soul to Azazel to save me?"

Dad stiffened immediately. So did Sam, immediately lifting his head to stare over the top of his laptop, toward Dean and Dad.

"Who told you about that?" Dad demanded after a moment, voice sharp.

Dean cleared his throat again, and said, "Cas did." And, well, maybe that would at least help to clear up Dad's doubts about whether Cas was really an angel. So that was one good thing that had come out of this, at least. Although, judging by the way that Dad was scowling, it was also the only good thing.

Dad nodded, but his mouth was pressed together into a thin line, displeasure written into all of his features. "I'm not having this conversation with you right now, Dean."

"Why not?" Sam asked, and Dean had to hold back a groan. But Sam actually managed to not sound completely pissed as he added, "I want to know the same thing, actually. If you weren't going to let Dean die to save the demon, why did you let me think that you were?"

Dad narrowed his eyes. "I never told you that I was trying to kill Azazel when I summoned him," he said. "You decided that on your own, it had nothing to do with me."

Sam stood, and shook his head. "But you knew that I was thinking it," he insisted. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it isn't your place," he snapped. "It still isn't. Jesus Christ, Sam, when I told you two to leave the motel, you weren't supposed to keep working this hunt on your own, and you definitely weren't supposed to actually figure anything out."

"What did you expect us to do?" Sam asked, voice rising slightly. "This affects all of us, Dad. All of us want to see Azazel dead. All of us want to get vengeance."

"Alright, alright, that's enough," Dean said quickly, stepping between them and raising his hands. He had enough experience to know that it probably wasn't going to do any good, not when the two of them were so insistent on starting a fight, but he had to try, at least.

Dad looked at Dean for a long moment, then shook his head. "I'm going to bed," he grumbled, grabbing his duffel off his bed and tossing it into the corner of the room. "If you and Cas are sharing, then you should grab him and get him out of here. I want us all to get some sleep now so that we can spend tomorrow figuring out what the hell Azazel is doing now."

Dean nodded quickly. "Yeah, okay," he said, then headed over and shook Cas' shoulder. "Come on, buddy, let's go." Cas grumbled and buried his face into the blankets, and Dean couldn't help but smile as he gave Cas another shake. "Seriously, man, rise and shine. Sam's not going to be happy if you stay passed out in his bed all night."

Cas shook his head, not opening his eyes. "Then you should sleep here with me," Cas mumbled, and lifted one hand just enough to grab Dean's wrist. "Sam can have our bed."

Dean smiled again, then glanced over at Dad, feeling the grin slip off of his face. Okay, so Dad obviously knew that Dean and Cas were going to be sharing a bed, but having Dad be aware of it and having Cas confirm it in front of him like that… yeah, the second one was much more awkward.

"Just get up," Dean said gruffly. "You can collapse again as soon as we're back in our room."

Cas groaned but nodded, pushing himself up and rubbing his eyes with his fist. "I'm up," he mumbled, though he looked more like he was sleepwalking than anything else.

"Talk to you in the afternoon?" Dean said, glancing over at Sam as he and Cas headed for the door.

"If Dad and I don't kill each other before then," Sam replied in a low voice, one that was hopefully quiet enough that Dad wouldn't be able to hear it.

Dean nodded, and pushed open the door, leading Cas out toward their room. He just had to hope that this room would still be standing when he came back later. Knowing Dad and Sam, he wouldn't be surprised if they somehow found a way to burn it to the ground by the time that Dean returned to stop them.

* * *

><p>Dean texted Sam after he'd woken up, saying that he and Cas would go down and grab them all something to eat before they got to work. Sam never texted back, which Dean took as a sign that he was either still asleep, or he was so lost in his computer that he wouldn't even notice if Dean poured his breakfast down the back of his shirt. Either way, Dean took it as a confirmation that he should just go grab them some food.<p>

It was nearly five that afternoon by the time that Dean and Cas pushed open the door to Dad and Sam's motel room, which was – miraculously – still in one piece. Unsurprisingly, Sam and Dad were already at work doing their own research, which was probably the whole reason why nothing had been destroyed yet. Sam looked up the moment that they walked in, though, and grinned. "Oh, thank god. I'm starving. Took you two long enough to get here."

"Hey, if you wanted something faster, then you should've gotten it yourself," Dean said, and handed Sam his container. He pulled out a second container and set it next to Dad, who didn't glance up long enough to acknowledge him, then he and Cas settled on the end of Sam's bed with their own food. "So," Dean said, in between a giant bite of his burger, "what have you got?"

Sam wrinkled his nose at him. "First of all, chew your food before you try to talk," he said, making Dean roll his eyes. Sam continued, "And it wasn't just Lily who hadn't been taken last night. None of the next victims were. Or-" He paused, glancing at his laptop with a frown, then amended, "Enough time has passed that there should be some sign of it online if they had gone missing, but I haven't been able to find anything about any of the other three names."

"Great," Dean said. "So, basically, we have no idea what's going on, and no leads. That's fantastic."

"Basically," Sam said, then reached over and spun his computer to face Dean, who leaned forward, trying to read the small type without having to move. He couldn't see most of it well enough to tell what it said, but he could definitely read the headline, at least: LOCAL BOY KILLED BY MYSTERY ASSAILANT. "I started plugging some of the other psychics' names into Google, just to see what would come up," Sam explained.

"I take it that this boy was a psychic, then?" Cas asked, squinting at the screen like that would help him to see the small type better.

"Scott Carey," Sam confirmed with a nod. Which didn't mean a whole lot to Dean, though he did get the vague feeling that he'd seen the name before. Probably from all of the time that he'd spent reading over that list of psychics. "He was murdered sometime last night, in the middle of a parking lot. Nobody knows who did it – his body wasn't found until hours after it happened. And he's not the first, either."

"Of course he wasn't," Dean muttered, then took another bite and nodded for Sam to continue.

"Three more of the psychics have been murdered in the past month, and that's just those that I know about," Sam said, and tapped the paper on the table beside him. And Dean might not be close enough to actually get a good look at it, but he still recognized it as the list of all of the psychics. "I haven't gotten through the entire list yet. There's a chance that more of them could have been killed. It looks like Scott was definitely the most recent, though."

"Well, okay, then. Better than nothing," Dean said, shoving the last of his burger into his mouth – chewing it up and swallowing quickly to keep Sam from bitching at him again – then adding, "And definitely better than sitting around on our asses. Where was this murder, exactly?"

Sam checked the screen quick. "Lafayette, Illinois."

Dean snorted. "Well, at least it won't be a long drive." And at least it was far enough from where Cas had been found that they wouldn't risk running into anyone who might recognize him. Seriously, though, Dean had thought that he'd be done with Illinois, at least for a while. He wasn't exactly looking forward to heading back there.

Now, finally, Dad looked up from his screen. "Okay, then," he said, and stood. "I'm going to head down to Lafayette, then, see what I can find about this Carey guy's death. You guys stay here and see if you can learn anything else about what Azazel is up to."

Dean immediately frowned, and Sam shook his head. "We're not staying behind," Sam said.

Dad's eyes narrowed. "I thought I made this clear enough last night," he said. "You boys were never supposed to stay involved with this. We're not working together, not again. And considering that the last time you insisted on joining this hunt it ended with your brother nearly dying, you shouldn't be so eager to jump back into this."

Sam's hands clenched. "I'm not," he said, voice tight. "But I'm also not going to sit on the sidelines and wait for Azazel to come for me. I'm in this now, and if you don't want to work this case together, then that's fine by me, but it just means that the three of us will go investigate on our own." He turned his head to the side, glancing over at Dean like he was expecting Dean to back him up.

Dean's stomach clenched, and he cleared his throat. "This might not have anything to do with Azazel," he pointed out. "It wouldn't make sense for the demons to start killing the psychics out of nowhere. So I say that we all head down and take a look around, get this one case figured out. And afterward, if we catch wind of where Azazel could be, then we could... reevaluate."

Both Sam and Dad were scowling, so he got the feeling that his compromise had pleased neither of them. But slowly, Dad nodded, and Sam reluctantly followed suit.

"Five minutes," Dad said, turning and stalking off toward the bathroom. "That's when we leave, and not a second after. I'm not going to wait for you if you three decide to hold me back." Then he slammed the door behind him, leaving the three of them alone in the room.

For a moment, none of them spoke. Then Cas cleared his throat, and stood. "Let's go pack."

* * *

><p>Dean and Cas moved around their motel room, grabbing their things and packing them away so that they could get ready to set off to investigate the death. Really, it shouldn't take them that long. Dean honestly wasn't sure how his stuff had gotten so scattered, considering that they'd only been in this motel for two days, and way more than half of that time had been spent on the stakeout. Not to mention that he still didn't have a whole lot of clothes left to make a mess of. Somehow, though, his few remaining items had gotten thrown around more than he'd intended.<p>

Still, though, it didn't take more than a couple minutes to track everything down and shove it into his bag. Then he glanced over at Cas.

He and Cas were still sharing clothes, so Cas really hadn't had anything to pack. Which was good, because instead of helping, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, not moving. His head was lowered far enough that Dean couldn't get a good look at his face, but he was pretty sure that Cas' eyes were closed.

Dean cleared his throat and walked over, putting one hand on Cas' shoulder. "You okay?"

Cas nodded and opened his eyes. "I was just thinking," he said. "Or, praying, actually."

"I thought that praying wasn't allowed?" Dean asked, frowning. "That it'd bring the angels down on us, or whatever?"

"Don't worry," Cas said quickly. "I would never do anything to put you or Sam in danger, I can promise you that."

Dean was still frowning, but he slowly nodded, acknowledging that. He'd kinda figured that Cas would know these things better than he did, so all he said was, "So then, what are you praying about?"

Cas was silent for a moment before he finally answered. "I'm worried about what could be happening," he admitted. "With Azazel, I mean. It's strange that he would simply give up on stealing the special children. It doesn't make sense. If he is no longer coming for them, then it must be because he has something bigger planned."

"Yeah," Dean agreed with a grimace. He couldn't say that he wasn't worried about it, too. In theory, it wasn't like Sam was in any more danger now than he had been before, since Azazel had always been planning on coming for him, and they still had the hex bags to keep that from happening. Still, though, it was freaky, not knowing what the demon could be up to. Add on the fact that the psychics were apparently getting murdered now, and even if Azazel didn't end up being the one behind it... Well, Dean figured that they had a reason to be worried.

"Seriously, though, praying?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. "I think we've already established that angels are dicks and we don't want their help."

Dean half expected Cas to get offended, but instead of looking upset, he just inclined his head once, acknowledging that it was true. "That is why I am praying to Hester, specifically," he said. "She will be the only one who is able to hear me, so the other angels will not be able to find us. But I thought that she may know something, or could at least be able to help us find out. And after the way that she behaved last time, I'm under the impression that she, at the very least, will not tell the other angels of our location, even if she may not actively help us."

Okay, Dean had to admit that Cas did have a point. So he stood still for a moment, waiting, glancing around the room like she was going to just pop up out of nowhere – and honestly, she might. After a minute, though, Dean let out a huff of breath and shook his head. "She's not coming."

Cas hesitated for a moment. Then his shoulders slumped. "It does appear that way, yes," he admitted.

Dean snorted. "Figures," he said. "We know that angels exist, and we're still on our own."

Again, Cas looked almost as if he were going to argue. Then he just nodded and stood, and Dean slung the bag over his shoulder. "Come on, I think that Sam and Dad are already waiting for us outside. We should get going." Then he turned and walked out of the room without waiting for Cas to follow.

It was official – they weren't going to be able to count on the angels. Not that Dean had really thought that they'd be able to, but still, now he was sure. If they were going to figure this out, it was gonna have to be on their own.


	37. Part 2 Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

They rolled into Lafayette at an actually decent time that night, which is more than could've been said about the last times that they'd had to drive from town to town. The best part was that it was just late enough that they couldn't begin their investigation until the next day, meaning that they could all actually get some decent rest for once. Usually, Dean wasn't the one to complain about the lack of sleep – and really, it wasn't like he needed more than four hours, anyway. But this was getting a little ridiculous, and he swore that he still wasn't entirely caught up from those nights after the Hellhounds had first started chasing his ass, when he hadn't been able to get any sleep at all. Of course, he'd kick Sam's ass for even implying the same thing, but it didn't make it any less true.

Either way, he was glad that he'd get to sleep during the actual nighttime for once. That seemed like a pretty good change of pace.

He and Cas were up early the next day. Or, Dean was up early. Cas was sitting in bed and yawning and generally looking like even opening his eyes was a cruel and unusual punishment. Honestly, Dean hadn't expected Cas to be so obsessed with sleep – he definitely hadn't been when he'd actually been human – but he figured it was better not to question it. Besides, what could he say? Cas looked pretty frickin' adorable with his bedhead.

Still, though, they actually had an investigation to begin, so Dean headed over and ruffled one hand in Cas' hair, until it was practically sticking up straight from his head. "Okay, sunshine, time to get all washed up and dressed. We're hoping to go investigate the crime scene before breakfast."

"Yes, I know," Cas said, though he didn't make any move to go actually do anything, just sat there and kept rubbing his eyes.

Dean shook his head and poked him in the side. "That means you actually have to go do things. Come on, Cas, what turned you into such a lazy bum in the morning?"

Cas groaned, but did stand up and take his nice clothes from his garment bag, which Dean had hung over the top of the bathroom door. "Sleeping is different as an angel, or partial angel." He paused and frowned at that, still not sure of what the right word was, then shook his head and continued. "It is more restful, believe it or not. I think because my human body didn't think that sleep was anything unusual, whereas my angelic self knows that this is something that I have never before experienced. My grace isn't accustomed to the need for sleep, and may be overcompensating." He frowned again, then shrugged. "Or maybe it's the same reason why I dislike eating food now. I am aware of all of the individual components that cause my body to sleep, and somehow, this makes the process more enjoyable instead of less."

"Huh," Dean said. And there wasn't really anything to say to respond to that, so instead, he just waved Cas toward the bathroom. "Either way, Dad's going to kill us if we're late, so let's get a move on."

"Yes," Cas said, and disappeared into the bathroom to wash up and change his clothes. Although, Dean was half tempted to knock on the door and tell Cas that he could just do that second part out here. If Cas was going to be undressing, then Dean might as well get a show out of the deal.

He didn't, though. Like he said, they needed to get going. There wasn't exactly any time for distractions. And seeing Cas sliding out of his pajama pants and tee shirt would definitely be a distraction.

Five minutes later, Cas was fully dressed, meaning that they were both pretty much ready to go. Dean stepped toward him, and was just straitening Cas' tie – guy was never going to learn how to do that right – when he heard a knock on the door. "Probably Dad or Sam," he said, adjusting the tie one last time before heading over to answer it.

It wasn't. Instead, standing at the door was a girl with brown hair and this super nervous expression stamped onto her face. She stood there biting her lip for a moment, standing on her tiptoes like she was trying to see past Dean into the motel room. Whatever she saw, it made her face fall, and she frowned. "Oh," she said in a small voice, and glanced up at Dean. "I think I have the wrong room."

"Okay," he said slowly, narrowing his eyes at her. Odds were that she probably was just some lost girl trying to find someone and knocking on the wrong door, but he wasn't going to count on it. In his experience, it was never just an easy misunderstanding, not when it came to him or Sammy.

And sure enough, she took a deep breath and glanced around Dean's motel room a second time, then asked, "Do you know any really tall guys, by any chance? Kinda... floppy brown hair and a big brown jacket?"

Yup. Definitely not a coincidence. "Why are you looking for him?"

Immediately, her eyes widened more, and she shook her head. "No reason," she said. "I'm just looking."

"Uh huh." Dean narrowed his eyes further. "You know, you're not exactly making me eager to trust you. So, do you want to tell me what's really going on here?"

She hesitated. "Yes," she finally said. "Trust me, I would love to tell you the whole story. In fact, I'm just about dying to tell this to someone. Except that there's the little fact that there is absolutely no way that you'd believe me, so I'm not going to do that."

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked, and leaned against the doorframe. "Try me."

She bit her lip again, still not saying anything. Cas walked over, joining Dean in the doorway. "Whatever you say, I am reasonably sure that we are going to believe you," he said. "We have seen more than our fair share of strange occurrences, and I can assure you that anything that you have to say won't be any more unusual than the things that we've seen already."

That seemed to do the trick, or maybe she had been telling the truth about how badly she wanted to tell someone, because all of a sudden the girl took a deep breath, and then the words were pouring out. "Okay, so the boy with the floppy hair, right? He's going to get killed. Or, specifically, he's going to explode trying to break into some guy's cottage out in the middle of absolutely nowhere. And I didn't really see why he was breaking in there, except that there was someone that I didn't get a good look at tied up in one of the chairs, and so floppy hair guy was obviously trying to rescue him, which didn't exactly work out, and oh god, I'm totally freaking you out, aren't I? You definitely think I'm crazy." She broke off, shaking her head and covering her face with one hand. "I know, this is insane. Trust me, I wouldn't believe me, either."

"No, we do," Cas said quickly, though he was looking over at Dean like he was silently asking what to do about this.

"Come on," Dean said, stepping back and gesturing her into the motel room. "I'm going to go grab the, uh, the 'floppy hair man' and we're going to talk to you about this."

She lifted her head, and the nervousness drained away, replaced by suspicion. "Wait," she said, glancing between both of their faces and not moving from where she stood. "You know who I'm talking about? And you believe me when I say that I had visions of some random guy's death? No offense, but now I'm the one who's kinda freaking out."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, I get that. Trust me on that one," he said, and made another gesture for her to enter the motel. This time, she did, slowly, still frowning and glancing around nervously. "But you're not the first psychic I've met."

"Wait, you know someone else who's psychic like me?" she demanded, spinning around to face him. "Who?"

For a split second, Dean wondered if he was supposed to say this. Then he figured, why not? This girl wasn't looking like much of a threat, and if she was telling the truth about this vision of hers, then they were going to need her to tell them everything she knew. Plus, if they talked about these psychic powers at all, then she was going to find out about them, anyway, so might as well break it to her now. "My little brother," he said. "He's got the same thing you've got- the weird death visions, or whatever they are."

"Your brother?" she asked, and her eyes flickered to Cas like she was wondering if it was him. Then he saw her notice the fact that the room only had one bed, and quickly let go of that assumption. "Where is he?"

"The room next door," Dean said. "I'll go grab Sammy, and then we'll talk about this vision of yours." And figure out a way to be damn certain that it didn't actually come true. Hopefully it would be simple enough. Sam got himself blown up in a cabin somewhere? So they stuck in the town and didn't go anywhere near the woods. Simple.

And Dean was going to make damn sure that that happened. The visions could be changed, and he knew that for a fact, considering that one of Sammy's visions had ended with that crazy psychic blowing Dean's brains out last year. And if Dean could beat the vision, then so could Sammy.

"Sammy," the girl repeated. "Is that your brother's name?"

"Yes, but only Dean is allowed to call him anything besides Sam," Cas said. "The rest of us get in trouble if we try."

"What's your name, anyway?" Dean asked. He was already heading toward the door, but now he paused and glanced back at her.

"Ava Wilson," she said, and he nodded and started walking again.

He didn't make it more than a step before the gunshots began.

The window next to the door exploded, glass scattering inward. Dean reacted instinctively, throwing himself to the ground behind the bed, then rolling over to look for Cas and Ava. The two of them were huddled together behind the table against the opposite wall. Didn't look like the absolute safest place in the world, but at least they seemed to be out if the line of fire.

"Stay there," Dean called to Cas, raising his voice to be heard over the gunshots. There were a ton of them, way more than there should've been for just one shooter – Dean was thinking two of them, maybe more, it was hard to tell. He didn't think that all of the bullets were being shot their way, though. Not that he could exactly count them as they flew overhead, but it didn't look like the damage being done matched up to the number of shots that he heard. He'd gotten pretty good over the years at estimating stuff like this, and he was pretty sure that the other shooter was aiming somewhere else.

There was about a one-second period where he wondered where the other one could be shooting. Then he got it.

Dad and Sammy's motel room was right next door to this one. Shit.

Cas and Ava were both staying where they were, which was good – the angle of the gunshots meant that they'd be fine so long as they stayed there. And Dean's spot seemed to be safe enough, too. He couldn't stay there, though. Not when he had to make sure nobody got a good shot at Sam.

The bullets were flying through the front wall, directly in front of Dean, right on the opposite end of the bed. Dean pressed himself flat against the floor, crawling under the bed, then rolling forward as fast as he could, until he was slammed against the wall. He thought that he'd worked it out right, that he'd be underneath the bullets and out of range. He didn't have to find out, though. The shooting stopped the moment that Dean hit the wall.

There wasn't time to wonder why, or to hesitate. Dean figured that he didn't have long before the bullets started flying again, and he wasn't going to waste his chance. He took only a second to grab his gun from his jacket pocket, click the safety off, and then he yanked the door open and ran outside.

First thing he did was drop to the ground behind one of the cars in the parking lot – a dark gray mini van, since he definitely wasn't using his baby as cover in a gunfight, not if he had a choice. He barely managed to get behind it before the shooting started up again – not at him, though. It was definitely still aimed into the motel room.

Dean braced himself, then darted to hide behind a different car about two spaces away, one that was out of the line of fire. And still, the shooter didn't make any attempt to try to hit him. Whoever it was, they clearly cared more about getting rid of Cas – or Ava – than they did about Dean.

He was going to make sure they realized that that was a mistake.

Dean gave himself about half a second to rest and catch his breath, then raised himself just enough to peer over the car, scanning the area to try and find where the shots were coming from. It only took him a second to locate the source.

There were two men on the building across from the motel. One of them, Dean had never seen before, but he was sending a hail of bullets into Dean's motel room. The other man was aiming toward Sam's room, just like Dean had thought.

This guy, Dean recognized.

Gordon.

Dean's hand clenched around his gun, and a second later, he was up and sprinting across the street toward the building, not bothering to stick close to the ground or trying to make him less of a target, just running as fast as he could. Half of him expected Gordon or the other guy to shoot him down before he reached the building, and even though it only took him maybe ten seconds, he still couldn't believe that he had actually made it. But no, both of them were still aiming bullets down on the motel rooms with a single-minded determination, like they weren't going to let anything get in their way.

Well, Dean was just going to have to mess with those plans, then, give them something else to worry about Because Gordon and his bastard friend were not going to do anything to hurt Sammy.

Dean circled around the building until he found the rickety fire escape that they must've used to climb to the roof in the first place. It looked like just tapping it would be enough to send it crumbling to the ground, but, well, Dean didn't exactly have a whole lot of options now. He didn't waste a second before grabbing it and hauling himself up.

By now, the bullets weren't just flying one way – Dad or Sam had grabbed a gun and started returning fire, and Gordon and his friend both pressed themselves flat to avoid the hail of bullets, hiding behind the lip around the edge of the roof.

Dean waited in the fire escape, over to the side of the building, until the bullets paused for a second – Dad or Sam reloading their gun, most likely. Gordon and his friend both took advantage of the pause to take aim toward the motel again, ready to resume fire.

Dean launched himself up off the fire escape, then aimed his gun squarely at the center of Gordon's back. "I wouldn't if I were you."

Gordon froze, then slowly, he and his friend both turned around. "Dean Winchester," Gordon said. "Why aren't I surprised that you're trying to stop us?"

Then in an instant, both Gordon and his friend had their guns leveled at Dean.

"You could try to shoot," the friend said. "Somehow, I doubt that you'd manage to get both of us before we stop you."

Yeah, Dean was realizing that, too. Sure as hell didn't mean that he wasn't going to try, though.

"But we don't want to hurt you," Gordon said, even as he shifted his gun slightly, to give himself a better shot. "You aren't our target here."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, that was definitely the impression I got when you started blasting my room to pieces."

The friend narrowed his eyes. "People who interfere with the Lord's work deserve to be punished," he said. "We won't have to harm you if you don't get in our way."

"Nice offer," Dean said. "Think I'm going to have to pass, though."

Okay, he needed a plan. He wasn't sure what Cas and Sam and Dad were up to, and he didn't dare to take him eyes off of either of them long enough to look, but he knew that they had to be doing something. All three of them would have guns – though Dean hoped that Cas wouldn't try to shoot anything. Even after all this time, he still wasn't the best shot. But they'd all be armed, and if Dean could keep the guns trained on him instead of on his family, then it'd give them a chance to fire up here and stop them.

Gordon and his friend seemed to realize the same thing, because Gordon glanced over at him out of the corner of his eye, and said, "We don't have time for this. We have to-"

A gunshot.

Too late for them.

Gordon staggered, and Dean didn't get the chance to see how bad it was, because a second later the other man was charging at him. Dean swung his gun around, finger already pulling the trigger, but not fast enough.

The butt of the man's gun crashed into the side of Dean's head, and he was on the ground, blinking. The world was spinning in front of him, dizzyingly fast, and he had just long enough to try and figure out what the hell happened before he fell unconscious, still not entirely understanding the answer.

* * *

><p>Dean opened his eyes, then winced and closed them again. It was dark in whatever the hell place he was, but that didn't matter – what little light was in here was still enough to make his head start to throb. He took a deep breath, then forced himself to open his eyes and take a look around.<p>

The walls were made of wood, he saw that right away. So was most of the furniture, with a few store-bought chairs here and there. There weren't any lights, and the only light came from the bit of sunlight managed to make it through the heavy curtains. He blinked at it slowly, and turned to look out the window. He couldn't see much, but he could make out a sliver of trees through the crack in the curtains, and absolutely nothing else. He couldn't tell why that was so important, though.

Then he'd remembered. A cabin in the middle of the woods. That was where Sam had died in Ava's vision.

Dean froze, then immediately tried to jump to his feet. Forget about his headache, or whatever else was wrong with him. This was where Sam was supposed to die, so there was no way that Dean was going to stick around longer than he had to. He had to get out, and run back down to the motel to find Sammy and warn him that he had better not try to come for him, or do anything stupid like that. Sam was not risking dying here. He wasn't-

Dean couldn't move, though. For the first time, he realized that his hands were tied behind him, and his legs were roped to the legs of his chair.

Fuck.

"You're awake," a voice said from behind it, and Dean recognized it as Gordon's a second before the man circled around to stand in front of his chair. He was shirtless now, and had wrapped his left arm in bandages that were already soaked through with blood – so that one shot hadn't done as much damage as Dean had hoped that it would.

"Good," Gordon continued, moving closer to Dean. "It's about time that we get this show on the road." Then he glanced past Dean, and said, "Kubrick, mind handing over the phone?"

"Sure thing," the other man – Kubrick – said, and crossed the room to press Dean's cell phone into Gordon's hand. Gordon flipped it open, and started scrolling through his contacts. "S," he said after a moment. "I'm guessing that's Sammy's number, isn't it?" He didn't wait for a response, just hit the call button, then pressed the phone against Dean's ear.

Sam picked up halfway through the first ring. "Dean?" he demanded, voice almost frantic. "Where are you? Are you alright?"

Sam's voice was loud enough to make Dean flinch, and to send another throb of pain through Dean's head, but he took a deep breath and didn't let that show when he responded. "Yeah, don't worry about my, Sammy. I'm fine."

"Now, Dean," Gordon said, soft enough that Dean hoped that Sam wouldn't be able to hear him. "It's not going to do you any good to lie."

Dean took another breath, and continued as fast as he could, "Listen, just hang tight, and don't do anything stupid. I'll come join you as soon as I can, just hang somewhere safe, you know what to do-"

"Dean," Sam cut him off, "was that Gordon?"

Well, shit. Dean was trying to figure out if he could get away with claiming that it was someone else, try to convince Sam that he was perfectly fine and definitely wasn't in need of a rescue. Gordon took the phone away from him before he got the chance.

"Hey there, Sammy," he said, his voice calm, almost happy, like he was talking to an old friend. It made Dean's skin crawl. "Listen, I have a deal for you. You know that girl that came to visit you today? I have a matter than I want to work out with her, and I'm pretty sure that you'd like to have your brother back. Sounds like an arrangement can be made between us, what do you think?"

Dean couldn't make out Sam's response, but based on the muffled noises that he did hear, he'd say that Sam was cussing Gordon out. Gordon just shook his head. "That's not going to help you much, Sammy," he said. "Here's what I'm thinking. I'm staying a place up in the woods. You bring the girl to 5637 Monroe Street, and I'll let you take your brother back home with you. You have to come alone, though, just you and her. Bring your dad or your friend with you, and you're not going to like what happens."

Sam said something more, and Dean could hear the fury in his voice, if not the actual words. Gordon just listened, nodding slowly. "You know what? I'll give you a deal number two," he said. "How about this, instead? Same rules – you still need to come on your own, and you'd better not be armed. But I know what your daddy was looking for not too long ago, and I'd bet anything that he's found it. Instead of bringing the girl, I want you to bring me the Colt." A pause, long enough for Sam to say something that vaguely sounded like a denial, then Gordon said, "Well, that's too bad, then. But if you realize that you do have it, you can bring it here and hand it over, and I'll let Dean walk. Something like that shouldn't belong to someone like you."

Another pause, Sammy saying something else, then Gordon said, "Either way, you might want to get here soon. I don't exactly like to have to wait." Then he hung up without another word, tossing Dean's phone onto the nearest table.

Dean couldn't help it – he snorted and shook his head. "You really think that Sam's going to be dumb enough to fall for that?"

Gordon turned to look at Dean. "No," he said, "I don't think your brother's going to be smart enough to do what we said. Your dad and your friend are going to come with them, and all that will mean is that both of them are going to die when he does."

"You know, none of you are who we're going after," Kubrick said. He grabbed a chair and pulled it away from the table, then settled down, his gun in his lap, still pointed squarely at Dean. "You- Well, you may be helping them, but that doesn't necessarily mean that you deserve to die, not for sure. But them, though. Your brother and that girl. You've got to know there's something wrong with them."

"They're not even human," Gordon added.

Kubrick nodded immediately. "That's right," he said. "It's not right. Goes against the natural order, interferes with God's plan. Things like them have got to be dealt with."

"Fuck you," Dean snapped, too mad to think of anything more articulate, and gave another sharp pull on the ropes. They didn't give at all, though. And Gordon must've searched him when he was unconscious, because neither of his knives were in his sleeves. He scowled at both Gordon and Kubrick, but neither of them seemed to even notice the fact that he was trying to kill them with his mind. Though he wondered what Kubrick would say if he told him that this was far from going against God's plan – if there actually was some sort of mythical God up there, then he was definitely the one behind this, or at least he didn't give a damn about what his angels were up to.

Dean didn't, though. For one, it wasn't like some bible-thumping bastard was going to believe him, anyway. But more than that, he had more important things to do, like figuring out how the hell he was going to get out of here.

He scanned the room again, and this time, he found a pile of weapons off to the side of the room, in a dark corner where he hadn't noticed them the first time. It was definitely Dean's stuff, too – he recognized his gun, and the angel blade was piled below it, managing to shine slightly even without any light.

Okay, so if he could find a way to break himself free, then the first thing he had to do was dive for the pile and arm himself. He didn't think that that was going to happen, though. Any hunter worth his salt knew how to tie someone up so that they could never break free, and they also knew all of the ways to slip a rope – meaning that they knew how to keep other people from using those same tricks. And he hated to say it, but Gordon was good, even if he was a fucking asshole.

Dean was slowly realizing that there was no way he was going to get himself free on his own. Meaning that he had to wait here until Sammy came to his rescue. And when he did, Gordon and Kubrick would be waiting to shoot.

Dean took a deep breath, and told himself that Sam would have a plan. He'd know a way to get in here without getting himself killed, and the two of them would both make it out of here in one piece. He repeated it to himself again and again, and it was the only thing keeping him from going insane.

It didn't stop the hallucinations from slowly creeping into his vision, making the walls twitch and undulate like there was something writhing in the shadows. Dean kept his eyes fixed firmly in front of him, very intentionally not letting himself look at the dark shapes in the corner of his vision, and he waited.

* * *

><p>It was less than an hour before Sammy arrived. Dean hadn't been able to tell exactly how much time had passed, but he knew this much, at least.<p>

He was still tied in the chair, though now he kept his head bowed, because that was the only way that the hallucinations left him halfway alone. So long as he kept his eyes locked on his knees, he could pretend that everything around him hadn't been twisted by his mind until it looked like some dark nightmare that only a psychopath would think up.

He was gagged now. Gordon had explained about it being a necessary evil – those were his exact words, the bastard. But according to him, they couldn't risk having Dean say anything to Sam that could give him an advantage. The gag would be removed as soon as Sam was dead and Dean was free to go. He understood, didn't he?

Dean was really starting to look forward to getting himself free so that he could stick a bullet or ten into Gordon's chest, then fill his friend Kubrick with lead, too, just for good measure. And if they did one fucking thing to hurt Sammy at all, they'd be begging him to shoot them, and there was no way that he would ever let them off that easy.

Maybe he'd have been fine with just getting away with Sam and never seeing either of these bastards again, but they kept talking. The whole hour, it was just them chattering away, about Sam and the psychics like him. The way that Scott Carey had killed some bunny or some shit like that, and obviously that was a sign that he was a crazed killer. Other things, too. Ava Wilson had once called the police to stop a murder before the murderer had even started heading to the would-be victim's house, which Dean thought was a pretty damn good thing for her to do, but apparently Gordon decided that that deserved the death sentence.

"And it's all related to that demon that your daddy's been going after," Gordon said, leaning back farther in his chair, wincing slightly as he jarred his hurt arm against the arm rest. "We've done our research. You'd be amazed at all of the strange shit we turned up. Or maybe you wouldn't be – you probably know all about it, and it hadn't seemed to change anything. But Dean, even you've got to know that this isn't right. It's up to us to fix it."

Dean's mind flashed to what Cas had told them just a few days earlier – about the demon blood, that Sam had been infected when he was six months, that that was the whole reason why these powers started coming. Gordon and Kubrick didn't seem to know about that part of it, so that was one thing to be grateful of, at least. Still, Dean could picture the panic that'd crossed Sam's face when he'd first learned the truth, and the way that some of the other psychics had turned to murder without even knowing what had caused these weird abilities in the first place.

Then Dean shook his head. If he could talk, he wouldn't started some big argument, making sure that Gordon knew that Sammy wasn't some monster – that there was nobody in the world who cared more than that kid, that Sammy was a hell of a lot better than trash like Gordon and his little pal could ever understand. As it was, he settled for just glaring as hard as he could, hoping that Gordon would be able to read the "fuck you" in his eyes.

Gordon didn't seem to be paying attention, though. Instead, he turned his head slightly, like he was looking out the window using just the corner of his eye. "Looks like he came alone."

"Doubt it," Kubrick said, carefully adjusting his grip on his gun.

Gordon nodded once, and the two of them tensed, bracing themselves for whatever Sam's next move was.

The waiting couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds. Dean knew that intellectually, but to him, it felt like it stretched on for minutes, or – hell – hours, even. All he could think about were the two guns at Sam's head, and that it didn't matter if Dad and Cas were here to back Sam up. All it would take would be one shot from either gun, sent into the right spot in Sam's body, and it would be over.

Then there wasn't time to worry more about that, because at that moment, Sam burst through the front door. Gordon and Kubrick both spun around, guns pointed at Sam. Sam already had his gun pointed straight for Kubrick, and didn't even flinch at the sight of the weapons being pointed his way. The light streaming in from the door behind him was enough to light the room, revealing that the gun Sam carried was either the Colt, or a very realistic fake.

"Sam," Gordon said. "How nice of you to join us."

Sam took his eyes off Gordon and Kubrick for a moment, just long enough to glance at Dean. "You're going to let my brother go," he said.

"Of course," Kubrick agreed easily. "Just as soon as you hand over the Colt."

Sam shook his head. "Dean first," he said, in a voice that left no room for argument.

"Not until you give us what we're after," Gordon said, in the same type of voice.

Dean couldn't make much noise with the gag, but he sure as hell did his best, trying to catch Sam's attention. And it worked – Sam looked over at him again, and Dean shook his head as hard as he could.

Sam had to know that this was a trap, and that if he wasn't armed, then there'd be no way that he'd make it out alive. Sam was smart, so there was no way that he hadn't figured that out already. Still, though, Dean wanted to make sure that the message really hit home, and that Sam knew that he wasn't even allowed to start thinking about actually turning it over, no matter what happened to Dean.

"Believe me, you don't want me to shoot you with this," Sam said, still aiming the Colt straight at Kubrick, and taking a step forward now. "Just let Dean go and nobody has to get hurt."

If the threat bothered Gordon, he didn't let on. "I'm sure you're right about that," he said, then swung his own gun around, stepping back and pressing the barrel against Dean's temple. "And I'm just as sure that you don't want me to pull my trigger, either. So what do you say you put the gun down and we talk this out, huh?"

Dean shook his head again – he was sure that lowering the gun would be suicide right then. The moment that Sam didn't have a weapon in his hand, there would be nothing to stop Gordon or Kubrick from pulling the trigger. And Sam obviously knew it, too, based on the way he hesitated. Then he took a long look at the gun in Gordon's hand, and nodded, moving the Colt marginally. It was pointed downward just enough that he was no longer aiming it at either of them, but his body was still tense, and it was obviously that he was ready to swing the Colt up and shoot any moment.

"You wanted to talk?" Sam said. "So talk."

That was when they heard the explosions.

The entire back room of the cabin was suddenly blown apart, sending debris shooting into the room. Dean stiffened, Sam instantly swung the Colt back up to aim at Gordon. Neither Kubrick or Gordon even flinched.

"I did tell you to come alone," Gordon said.

Dean was shouting against the gag, trying his best to cuss Gordon out, even with the fabric choking his words. Sam took a deep breath – Dean could see his shoulders rise and fall, slowly, and he kept the Colt trained on Gordon, no emotion on his face at all. Dean copied Sam, taking a breath to calm himself down. Sam had looked surprised for just a moment, but it'd disappeared almost immediately – so he'd been expecting it. Of course he had been. Ava had been the one to tell them about the explosion, and Cas had been standing right there listening. It wasn't like Cas would've forgotten to mention that little detail about the back room being rigged to explode.

If Cas and Dad had expected this, then there was no way that they'd be caught in the explosion. Meaning that there was no reason for Dean to actually start panicking. Or, sure, he could act like he was – no way was he going to let Gordon and Kubrick know that Cas and Dad were just fine and ruin their element of surprise – but that didn't mean anything.

Then Kubrick raised one hand, and smile slowly spreading over his face. "Just wait," he said. "This is the good part."

Two seconds passed, and then the back room was blown apart by a second round of explosives.

This explosion was bigger, lasted longer, and Dean screamed against his gag, trying and failing to call Cas and Dad's names.

Sam froze again, but it wasn't in surprise this time. Dean could read every emotion that crossed Sam's face, and fear had to be number one on that list. Or, maybe not fear – Dean was pretty sure that terror was a hell of a lot more accurate, and suddenly Dean felt like he couldn't breath.

"You bastard," Sam said, practically snarling the word, and strode forward, toward Gordon, Colt still held out straight in front of him. Kubrick raised his gun, but Sam spun around, pointing the Colt back and forth between the two of them. "Don't test me," he snapped. "Just release my damn brother."

"You know, those explosives were supposed to be meant for you," Gordon said, still way too calmly. "You were going to be the only casualty today, if you'd just listen. But they got what they deserved, trying to help you survive. People who work with the monsters are no better than the monsters themselves."

"Last time I'm saying it," Sam said. "Let. Dean. Go."

"Set the Colt on the ground and we will," Gordon said.

Sam hesitated, then slowly began to crouch down, lowering the Colt but still keeping it trained on Gordon. "I set this on the ground, and how do I know you won't shoot me right now?"

"You don't," Gordon said with a shrug. "But if you want Dean to make it out of here okay, then I guess you'll just have to-"

"Look out!"

The shout came from Kubrick, and he tossed himself to the side, just as a bullet tore through the wall behind where he'd been standing just a second earlier.

Sam jumped to his feet in an instant, but Gordon responded just as fast, swinging his gun out and striking Sam in the side of his head. Sam staggered, but responded the same way, slamming the side of Colt into Gordon's face, and then there was a sick crunch and blood was spurting out of Gordon's nose.

Then Dad and Cas were storming the room, John and Kubrick circling each other with their guns drawn, Cas suddenly kneeling beside Dean's chair, already pulling a knife from his pocket to cut the rope holding Dean's arm to the chair. Dean stared at him, caught between relief and panic. Dad and Cas were fine, they'd avoided the second round of explosions, and Dean finally felt like he could breath again – but Dad and Kubrick were circling each other like only one of them would make it out alive, and Sam and Gordon were still duking it out, trading blows instead of bullets, but that could change at any moment.

"Go help them," Dean said, but of course the words didn't make any sense, and he groaned in frustration, nodding his head in Sammy's direction in the hopes that he would get the message.

Cas obviously didn't understand what Dean was trying to say, but he did pause and set his knife in Dean's lap, then pulled the gag from Dean's mouth. So there was that, at least. Dean spat out the wad of cloth that Gordon had shoved into his mouth, then said quickly, "Forget about untying me. Go help Sam and Dad. They need-"

"Your brother and father will be fine," Cas said, grabbing the knife again and setting to work on Dean's other wrist. "Give me one more moment to free you, and then we can both-"

Sam fell, hitting the ground hard, crying out as his head slammed into the wood floor. The Colt tumbled out of his hands, and it was barely a second before Gordon had grabbed it.

"Cas-" Dean shouted, but Cas was already moving, tightening his grip on the knife and throwing himself at Gordon just as Gordon took aim at Sam.

Cas thrust with the knife, but Gordon turned just in time to see it coming, moved just in time so that the knife stabbed into his arm instead of his chest. His uninjured arm, meaning that now he was fighting with both arms down, but he was still fighting.

Dean couldn't see what was happening. Sam was rolling out of way, toward the back corner of the room, and Cas was still wrestling with Gordon. Dean didn't dare do more than glance at them every couple seconds to see what they were doing – he was too busy fighting a battle of his own, trying to rip off the ropes that tied his legs to the chair so that he could do something but sit here being useless. It wasn't fucking working, though. Gordon had tied them tight, and Dean was too impatient to be careful, even though that stupid voice in the back of his head kept reminding him that he was probably moving so fast he was messing up and making it take even longer. He gritted his teeth and yanked the rope as hard as he could. Cas looked like he was winning – 'course he was, he was a fucking angel, for god's sake – but that didn't mean that Dean could just sit here. He had to get free and go help, before Cas-

Then came the gunshot.

Dean froze, then looked up.

Just as Cas fell to his knees. One hand still clutching the knife, the other hand holding his stomach. His shirt was already turning red. Gordon still held the Colt, but now the barrel was smoking.

For one second, Dean swore that the whole world stopped moving. He heard himself screaming Cas' name, but that was the only thing that he heard, like nothing else even dared to make a sound. Then everything snapped back into focus, and one more shot echoed through the room. Dean looked around frantically, half expecting to see Dad or Sam collapse to the ground – because Cas had been shot, and that meant that everything else that could possibly go wrong had to be happening too, Dean couldn't even imagine a happy end.

Then Kubrick hit the ground, and Dad swung his gun around to point it toward Gordon. At that same moment, Sam reached the back corner, where Dean's stolen weapons had been piled. An instant later, he was on his knees, gun pointed at Gordon from behind.

Gordon took one look at the two of them, both of them aiming their guns at him while his friend lay dead on the floor, and then he turned and ran.

Dad took off after him, chasing him through the destroyed back room and disappearing from view. Sam didn't even look like he cared that Gordon was getting away. Instead, he dropped the gun and immediately rushed over to Cas, grabbing him and lifting him into his arms. ""Cas! Hey, Cas, look at me, you're okay, you got that? You're fine. We're going to get you help."

Dean yanked once, twice, three times at the ropes, ripping them viciously, calling them every swear he could think of and several that he had to invent. And finally, he got them loose enough that he could slip his legs out of them and run over to drop to his knees next to Cas.

Cas' eyes were open, but unfocused, both hands pressed against his stomach now. "Hey, you listen to me, Cas," Dean said, voice low. "Don't you dare die or do anything stupid like that, you got me? Don't you fucking dare." He ripped off his jacket as fast as he could, shoving Cas' hands out of the way so that he could press the jacket against the wound, pushing down hard to try to stop the bleeding. He could barely see what he was doing. Cas' skin was warping underneath his hands, twisting until Dean couldn't even see where the gunshot was. He could see the blood, but there was blood everywhere, seeping out from blacked flesh, like Cas had been burned, and fuck, he knew that this couldn't be real, but did he have to start seeing things now? He wasn't tied up anymore, but he felt just as useless, staring down at Cas and trying to figure out where he should even put pressure. He didn't even know where the wound was, how was he supposed to do something about it?

Then Sam was putting Cas in Dean's arms, switching him over so that Dean was the one who was propping him up. "Hold him," Sam said, and Dean nodded, tightening his grip on Cas, Sam ripping the jacket out of Dean's hands and pressing it against Cas himself. Okay. Okay, Dean could do this part. Cas was twitching – or the hallucination was twitching – and it looked like he was going to spasm out of Dean's arms, but he could feel the real Cas lying almost completely still in his arms. Dean took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the feel of Cas in his arms, and the fact that Dean could feel him move, which meant that he had to still be alive.

He tried to ignore the fact that when he opened his eyes, it looked like he was holding a corpse.

His mind was whirling frantically, searching for something he could do to help, and suddenly his mind landed on Hester. And fuck if he didn't think that it would be useless, but he had to try anything, so a second later he was shouting in his mind, _Hester! Listen to me, I don't care if you believe Cas or not, you need to get your ass down here. Seriously, get down here. You can feel where I am, right? Cas is- We need some help here._

The words circled through his mind, a million different ways to pray for help. There was no response. Dean felt stupid for hoping that there would be.

"Dean," Cas said. His voice was barely audible, but it made Dean's eyes fly open immediately, his prayers forgotten. Cas was staring up at him – Dean thought that Cas was staring up at him – and his eyes were wide, but Dean swore they were more focused now. For about two seconds, until they started flashing black, and Dean couldn't hold back a shudder.

"Dean," Cas repeated, and his voice was twisted just like everything else, but Dean could tell that it was a little louder, a little stronger. He coughed, then said, "Being injured is much less pleasant as a human than as an angel."

"Yeah, no shit," Dean said, but he couldn't stop the relief from washing over him. He still couldn't see, still couldn't check on Cas for himself, but if Cas was able to make comments like that, then he had to be okay, right? That had to mean he hadn't been hurt too bad.

"Dean," Sam said suddenly, and his voice was urgent, but Dean couldn't tell if it was in a bad way or not. "Look at this."

Dean opened his eyes immediately, and looked down, trying to figure out what Sam was talking about, if it was something he should be freaking out about. Now, the hallucination had changed, but it was still twisting his vision – Cas' flesh bubbling, blood pouring from every inch of his skin, his body turning a sickly green color-

Dean pulled in a long breath. "What?" he snapped, because if he couldn't see what was happening himself, then Sam sure as hell better start explaining soon, or else-

Sam realized what was going on immediately, because he answered at once. "There's not enough blood," he said, so fast that his words were all rushing together. "He's not bleeding as much as he should be."

"What?" Dean asked.

Cas cleared his throat, and tried to sit up. Dean instinctively tightened his hands around Cas, holding him in place, and after a moment, Cas gave in, and stopped trying to move. But he did clear his throat again, and said, "I still have my grace." His voice was breathless, and drawn with pain, but at least it was steady.

"Yeah," Dean said, and his mind was still spinning in circles too fast for him to get it.

Sam did, though. "You think that it does something?" he asked.

Cas nodded his head slightly, just the tiniest bit of movement. "I had hoped," he managed, and didn't say anything else, because at that exact moment, he tried to move again, and cried out.

"Shit," Dean said, holding Cas even closer. "Fuck fuck fuck." He started it up like a mantra under his breath, and couldn't stop himself from repeating it, even after Cas had stilled in his arms.

Cas was still panting, his breathing hard and labored, but he gasped out, "I'm fine. I need to be careful. I'm fine."

Footsteps coming from the back of the house. Sam and Dean both stiffened, and Sam let go of Cas, grabbing Dean's gun from where he'd stuck it on the ground beside him and aiming it at the back door. Dean carefully shifted his grip on Cas, making sure not to jar him, but carefully sliding his hand down to take over putting pressure against the wound. He didn't care what Sam said about it not bleeding much, he wasn't taking chances.

If Gordon had been the one to walk through that door, Dean didn't know what he would've done. Hoped that Sam shot him first, mostly. Tried to roll over and grab one of his other weapons from where they were still piled in the corner – fucking bastard deserved to have an angel blade shoved where the sun didn't shine, or in even more unpleasant places.

It was Dad, gun still in hand, scowl on his face. "Gordon got away," he said, then glanced over toward Dean and Cas. "How is he?"

Slowly, Sam lowered his gun. "He'll recover," he said.

Dad nodded once. "Good," he said. "Think we can move him? We've gotta get out of here. With those explosions, I'd give it five minutes before the police get here." He didn't wait for a response, just headed over and started gathering up all of Dean's stolen weapons.

"Think you're okay to move?" Sam asked. He was frowning, looking like he wasn't quite sure about whether to move him, even if Dad had a point – the longer they stayed, the better the odds that their asses were going to wind up in jail.

Cas nodded determinedly, but Dean didn't think that that meant much – the guy could've been bleeding out, and he would still be insisting that he wasn't hurt. And shit, Dean should not have thought about Cas bleeding out, because he swore those two words made the hallucinations throw a party, start fucking with him twice as hard until he had to squeeze his eyes shut to block out the things that weren't here.

"Yes," Cas said firmly, and he didn't sound terrible, at least. "Yes, I can be moved." He started to sit again – hadn't learned his lesson last time – but when Dean tightened his fingers on Cas' shoulders, he paused and admitted, "I think that I may need help. But I can move."

Sam looked at Cas for a long minute. That was good. Dean couldn't see Cas' expression, couldn't tell if he was telling the truth or not, but Sam would be able to. Sam would know if this was all just a big pile of bullshit or not.

Finally, Sam nodded once. "Okay," he said. "Let's get out of here."


	38. Part 2 Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

Sam carried Cas out of to the Impala. Dean would've done it, but he didn't trust himself – not when he didn't know when he was going to trip over something that wasn't there, or see something that would send him into a panic.

He hated these fucking hallucinations. Hated them with every single cell of his body.

Dad drove the Impala back to the motel. Cas was in the backseat, with Dean on one side of him and Sam on the other. He leaned his head against Dean's shoulders, and Sam kept steady pressure on Cas' stomach.

"Where are we going?" Dad asked, about two minutes after they'd taken off. Then he cleared his throat, and added, "I mean, does he need a hospital?"

Dean turned to Sam. He didn't know the answer – he couldn't even tell how fucking deep the bullet had gone into him, for crying out loud, how was he supposed to figure that out.

He'd expected Sam to answer, but he didn't. Instead, Cas did.

"No hospital," he said, voice weak but firm. "I am not healing like a human."

"The fuck does that mean?" Dad asked.

"It means take us to the motel," Sam said, and Dad grumbled under his breath, but that's what he did.

They drove down different streets than the ones that they'd taken when they'd first rolled into town earlier that day. Meaning that they had to be headed to a different motel – made sense, considering that the last one had been completely destroyed. Dean didn't bother asking where it was. He didn't really care, honestly.

After a few minutes, though, there was one other thing he wanted to ask. He glanced over at Sam. "The Colt was a fake?"

Sam frowned, and shook his head. "No," he said. "We didn't have time to find a fake. We had to bring the real thing."

Dean frowned back, and looked down at Cas. His eyes were closed now, face still drawn with pain – Dean could tell that much, but not much more. What he did know, though, was that Cas was definitely still alive. Unless this hallucination was the most twisted at all, making him thing that Cas was still here when really-

That didn't make sense, though. The hallucinations wouldn't show him something good, right? No way would they be what he wanted. But then, it didn't make sense. Last he'd heard, the Colt was supposed to destroy anything it shot, and it'd sure as fuck worked last time they'd tested it out.

"We swapped out the bullet," Sam said after a moment, apparently sensing Dean's confusion. "We knew we had to save the last one, and didn't want to risk it going off. The real bullet is locked in the motel safe."

"Not that it'll do us a whole lot of god without the damn gun to shoot it with," Dad added from the front seat, his voice low enough that Dean could barely hear it.

He did manage to hear it, though. And based on the look on Sam's face, he'd heard it, too.

"We've got the angel blade," Dean said quickly. "We can still do this. Who needs the Colt, right?"

"Yeah," Dad finally said, after way-too-long of a pause. "Fine. We've got the blade."

After that, nobody said anything else.

* * *

><p>Last time Cas had gotten hurt on a hunt, Dean had insisted on being the one to patch him up. Those cuts hadn't been as bad as a bullet wound, but they'd still been enough to freak Dean out a bit, even if he'd known that stuff like this was par for the course. He'd never really gotten used to it, not with Dad, and most definitely not with Sammy. No matter how often he had to stich Sam up or push his joints back in place, he never, ever stopped hating every second of it. Stitching Cas up last time had been like that, except there was the added bonus of having guilt crushing him the whole time. Sure, it wasn't like he could've known that Cas was going to get kidnapped while they were out digging a grave, but still. Cas hadn't had the experience that he and Sammy had. He never should've been left alone while they were on a hunt. 'Course Dean had insisted on being the one to stitch him up – because he couldn't stop some part of him from being convinced that he was responsible, and so he had to be the one to fix Cas, to at least make some part of it better.<p>

This time, it was so much worse. Mainly because this time, he knew that he was the one at fault. He'd been the one to get himself kidnapped, and Cas never would've gotten hurt if Dean had just managed to do a better job against Kubrick and Gordon in the first place, and had never been taken. But even though he knew for a fact that this was his fault, he still couldn't do anything except sit and keep a death grip on Cas hand while Sam removed the bullet and stitched Cas' side.

It was an hour later, and Cas was completely passed out. That girl Ava had been in the motel when they'd first gotten back, but she'd left immediately after she'd seen them carrying Cas into the motel, looking like she was trying her best not to puke or pass out, one of the two. Dad was on the other side of the room, drinking whiskey that he'd headed down to the corner store to buy half an hour earlier. After hesitating for a long moment, Sam had finally dropped down into the seat across from Dad and poured his own glass. Neither of them had said anything this whole time, but they weren't fighting, either.

Honestly, whiskey looked like a hell of a good idea. Hell, any kind of alcohol would be good with him, as long as it could get him wasted. He wasn't drinking right then, though. For one, getting sloppy drunk sounded like a fucking terrible thing to mix with the hallucinations that were still flickering in his vision. They weren't as bad now – dark shapes in the corners of his eye, weird flashes across his vision, split-seconds where he swore that Cas was burned and smoking, or that Dad's flesh had melted off, leaving nothing but his skull, watching him with empty eye sockets.

They weren't always there, at least. He didn't always see them. Still, though, drinking didn't sound like the smartest idea.

Besides, he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Cas' hand while he slept, and he didn't really want to get up to go grab a glass anytime soon. He was pretty sure that he was going to be holding vigil by Cas' side all night, just like he had after the whole shapeshifter thing had happened. He wouldn't be able to stand it if he didn't.

Dean's weapons were once again tucked into his pockets – including the angel blade, still shoved into the inside of his jacket. Dad had given it back to him once they'd reached the motel. Or, Sam had taken it from Dad and handed to Dean without a word, that bitch face locked in place, the kind that said that he'd kick Dean's ass if he tried to argue. Dean hadn't. He didn't have it in him to argue with anyone right then.

Stabbing someone was another story. Or shooting someone. Gordon was lucky that Dean didn't know where he'd gone off to, otherwise there'd be no way that he'd be able to hold himself back.

They'd been sitting in silence for twenty minutes now, ever since Sam had finished treating Cas, and Cas' muffled cries of pain had died out as he'd drifted into a halfway-peaceful sleep. The only sound in the room had been Cas' still-labored breathing, and the clink of glass against glass whenever Sam or Dad poured themselves another drink. Now, though, Dad decided to break the silence.

"We need a new plan," he said, "since Gordon made off with the Colt. We need a new way to kill Azazel, something more reliable than a blade that you guys think is going to work."

Sam stiffened, and straightened slightly in his seat. "We know that it's going to work," he said. "All we need is a way to get close enough to Azazel that we can stab it into him."

"How?" Dad asked, and for just a moment, Dean thought that Dad was asking about their Azazel-stabbing strategies. Then he added, "What makes you so sure that it will work. Where's the research on it?"

"We haven't done any," Sam said. "But Cas says it'll work, so it'll work." And Dean could see it on their faces – Dad wasn't going to call that reason enough, and everyone in here knew it.

"Can't this wait until later?" Dean demanded, voice coming out harsher than he'd meant. "Like maybe more than an hour after Cas just got shot saving Sam's life?"

Something flashed across Dad's face, something that might almost look like guilt, except it was gone before Dean could see for sure. Dad shook his head. "We can't afford to wait," he said. "And we can't afford any uncertainty, so unless we have proof, we're not going to rely on it."

"Oh, so now we're a 'we'?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. Fuck, that wasn't going to make anything better.

Dad glared right back at Sam. "You two are the ones that always wanted to get involved," he said. "I was never the one who wanted you in this, but you insisted."

"And you tried to do everything to keep us away from you, no matter what damn problems we had," Sam snapped. "What makes you decide that we're just going to be a team now?"

Dad was quiet for only a few seconds, which was just long enough for Dean to think _oh shit. _Then Dad was standing, hands slammed down on table in front of him, leaning forward to glare at Sam. "I've been keeping you safe," he snapped. "You really think you're in any place to question that, considering how badly it was all fucked up the last time we tried to work together. We lost our best chance at the demon and your brother could have died. You really need me to spell it out for you why I didn't want you two to join me again?"

Sam was on his feet, too, now, mouth open, ready to snap.

"Don't wake Cas," Dean said quickly, glancing over at him. He was curled like he was trying to protect his injured side, and didn't move at all, not even a twitch.

Sam instantly looked guilty, and stepped back from the table, though he didn't sit back down. "Let's just forget about the last hunt and focus on how we're going to kill Azazel now."

See, that sounded like an excellent idea to Dean. Just forget about everything, focus on ganking this bastard now, everyone would be happy. Except Dad, apparently, because he just shook his head. "Doesn't work like that," he said firmly. "You don't get to just forget about these things, not in this life. You're lucky that we got a do over, no harm done. It could have just as easily ended with any one of us dead. You're not allowed to walk away from that stuff."

Oh, god. He could see it in both of their faces, there was no way that either of them were backing down now. Ever since Sammy hit the argumentative teenage years, Dean had learned how to sense how bad a fight was going to get. It was in the way that they both stood, the way they glared at each other, whether their arms were crossed tight or if they were gesturing widely.

Basically, he knew the signs. And he saw all of them now. This was going to be a big one.

"And you're allowed to just walk away?" Sam demanded, taking a step forward. "We're calling for you, and you're allowed to just walk away? I called you when Dean was frickin' dying, way before he nearly got killed by Azazel, and you didn't need to get involved?" Sam broke off, shaking his head. "That's bullshit, Dad, and you know it."

"Seriously, guys, Cas just took a bullet," Dean pointed out, hoping that that would at least stand a chance at calming Sam down. Or maybe it'd make them decide to go take their fight somewhere else, so that Cas could sleep through it. It wouldn't change the fact that they'd both walk back in here in half an hour, sending each other death glares and growling at each other for the rest of the night, but at least then Dean wouldn't feel like he had to sit here and listen to it.

Sam lowered his voice again, but that was all he did. "We needed you here, Dad, and you never showed up. So now you get to decide that you want to waltz in here and help us out, but only on your terms? That's not the way it gets to work."

"You're being childish," Dad said.

Dean wanted to stand up that they were both being the childish ones, but of course he didn't – he could just imagine how Dad would respond if Dean ever said anything even remotely like that. Instead, he just lowered his head, using his free hand to rub his temples.

The images were getting worse again, flashing across his vision more and more often, and he was sick of it. Sick of everything, really, and pissed beyond belief. He wanted Cas to not be hurt, for his frickin' mind to stop betraying him, for Dad and Sam to stop going at each other's throats for one fucking second, and for them definitely to stop doing it now, when they were ten feet away from where Cas was lying wounded. There was enough shit going on, and if they didn't stop it soon, he was going to lose it.

In a way, it worked, he guessed, because suddenly Dad turned away from Sam and looked toward Dean instead. "And what's going on with you?"

Dean frowned, then slowly lifted his head to look toward his dad. "What do you mean?"

"Don't try to deny it," Dad said. "I've seen you rubbing your head, or staring at nothing and freaking out. Something's up, and you're not as good at hiding it as you think you are. So I'm giving you one chance to tell me what's going on."

Fuck, Dean had thought that Dad wouldn't pick up on that. Of course that was a stupid thought. Dad was the best hunter Dean had ever met – no way would he miss these kind of signs, even though Dean had kinda been banking on the fact that Dad would be too pissed at Sam to even glance in Dean's direction. Apparently that hadn't panned out, though.

"It's nothing," Sam said, before Dean got the chance to answer.

"This is between me and your brother," Dad snapped, glancing at Sam for a split second before returning his eyes to Dean. "And it's not nothing, and you'd better tell me right now."

"Nothing that we're going to tell you about," Sam amended. "You weren't here when it happened, wouldn't even let Dean call you and tell you about it. You don't get to demand answers now."

This time, Dad didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to Sam. "Dean," he repeated, in that warning voice he used. The one that meant that Dean had better tell him now, or the consequences were going to be worse than the monsters they fought.

The hallucinations were hitting hard now, darkening his vision until it looked like midnight instead of the middle of the afternoon. He could hear them ringing in his ears, too, like a low buzzing that he couldn't shake. It was making his own breath sound too loud in his ears, and his voice didn't sound like his own, not at that moment. It almost sounded like it was someone else completely who took that deep breath and said, "I sold my soul to a demon."

The moment that the words were out of his mouth, it was like he'd snapped back to reality, and suddenly he was way too aware that the words had come from his mouth, he was the one who had just admitted that, and Dad was staring at him like he was going to kill him.

"Sold your soul to a demon?" Dad repeated, followed immediately by, "What the hell is wrong with you? I leave you alone for a year, and now you're off sleeping with supernatural creatures and selling your soul?"

"It was ten years ago," Sam said, his voice like stone. "When he sold his soul, I mean. It happened a long time ago, during one of the other times when you weren't around."

"This doesn't involve you," Dad snapped at Sam, then toward Dean, "How could you be so stupid?"

"Like hell it doesn't involve me," Sam said. "Why do you think he was forced to do it?"

"I thought you didn't believe Cas was an angel," Dean said, at the exact same time.

Dad looked back and forth between the two of them, then for whatever reason decided that he was going to answer Dean's question first.

"I saw him get shot," Dad said stiffly. "I saw the blood. No normal human heals that fast, I'll give you that much. And no normal human would be that lucid when they've lost that much blood. There's something going on with him. Whether he's an angel or something else, I don't know, but he's definitely not human."

Dean nodded his head slowly, and waited for whatever came next. No way was Dad done talking yet, Dean could sense it.

And he was right. Almost immediately, Dad continued, "Which makes me wonder why you two are so quick to trust him. He lies about his name, he lies about his species – is there anything he's actually been honest with you about?"

"Cas is family," Sam said.

Dad shook his head. "Not in my book."

Sam's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Then your book is wrong."

"Do we have to do this?" Dean asked, voice too loud. For a second, he'd almost forgotten about Cas sleeping right next to him, about the fact that he'd been the one telling Sam and Dad to keep it down just a second ago. He stopped, lowered his voice. "Cas just took a bullet saving Sam's life. You're going to tell me that you still don't trust him?"

"We don't know enough about him," Dad said.

"I know plenty," Dean said, and made a vague gesture toward his brother. "Sammy knows plenty. We know that he's here, and that he's saved both of our lives more than we can count, and that he's running his ass away from Heaven so that he could join us in fighting back against this whole fucking mess. I don't know, but that sounds good enough for me."

Dad's eyes narrowed further, and fuck, now Dean was really going to get it. He flinched, then bereted himself for reacting so stupidly, then tried to hold back a growl when the hallucinations suddenly grew sharper, until all at once they looked clearer and more real than the real world.

"We're getting off topic," Dad said. "This isn't what we're supposed to be talking about." And Dean had just enough time to be relieved that Dad was at least going to stop digging at Cas, and then Dad said, "You still haven't told me why the hell you would sell you soul to a demon."

Sam was staring at Dean now, and Dean could read the offer in his eyes, could tell that Sam would be the one to explain it if Dean wanted him to. Dean hesitated, just for a second, then nodded his head slightly.

Sam nodded back, and faced Dad again. "I died," he said, voice flat – no emotion, nothing at all. "I was thirteen, and I was murdered by an angel. A demon offered Dean the chance to bring me back. He took it."

"And you never thought to mention this to me?" Dad demanded. "Why the hell did you even let them get that close? What were you even doing?"

"We were at the park climbing trees," Sam said. "He didn't know it was an angel. He thought I'd fallen out on my own."

If John heard, he didn't react at all. "I gave you one job," he said, taking a step toward Dean. "Just one job. You were supposed to take care of your brother, and look what happened. How the fuck did you let that happen?"

"I fixed it," Dean said. "I know I fucked up, but I fixed it, okay?"

"Too late for fixing it," Dad snapped. "It never should have happened in the first place. And now there's hellhounds on your trail – yeah, I know what happens when your soul is sold, I know the symptoms. So now the hellhounds want to rip you to shreds, don't they? Sounds like you just messed everything up worse."

"Don't you dare-" Sam began, but he was cut off before he could say anything more.

This time, Dean was the one to cut him off.

"I did what I had to do," he said, dropping Cas' hand so he could stand up and face Dad now. He wasn't speaking loudly anymore, but he felt like his voice was iron. "You would've done the same thing. Hell, you almost did do the same thing."

"That's different," Dad said, and didn't explain how. Instead, he just asked, "When does your deal come due?"

Dean frowned, but after a few seconds, he finally admitted, "About eight days ago."

Dean could see Dad working out the math in his head, then watched his eyes narrowed. "The same day that Sam was supposed to be taken."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Azazel probably worked it out that way on purpose." And the demon bastard probably got a real kick out of that, too, planning on taking Sam on the same day that his big brother had been killed, wanting Sam to be off balance and not able to fight back. The thought was enough to make Dean think that he didn't want to just stab Azazel through the heart, after all, because that wouldn't be nearly quick enough.

"So that's another thing," Dad said. "You go through a demon attack, you know that Sam was supposed to be taken, you know that you're supposed to be dragged down to hell, and then what? You don't even pick up the phone and let me know that you fucking survived, or call me up and tell me that you had demons on your trail too?"

That did it.

"I did call you," Dean shouted. He didn't know when he had made the decision to raise his voice so much – he was pretty sure he'd just decided on doing the exact opposite – but he was doing it now, and he didn't exactly think that he'd be able to stop any time soon. "I did call you, all the time. Jesus, Dad, I must've made thirty phone calls before my deal came due, and you were the one who didn't exactly want to get in touch. Because you said it, didn't you? That if we walked out that door, then we weren't allowed to come back, for good this time. So I'm sorry that I listened, and that I was so busy trying to track down Cas that I started acting like you. Because your fucking phone calls are so much more important than mine, huh?"

"Don't you dare-" John began.

Dean shook his head, and cut him off. "And you know what? You were the one who always told me to take care of Sammy, no matter what it took. And I fucking did. I was the one who always made sure that he had food, even when you were gone for months and we started running short. And I got him up and dressed and shoved him out the door to make sure that he got to school on time, not you. And when he was lying dead in my arms, I made sure that he came back, that he didn't die for good when he was thirteen years old. I did all of that. And you know something else? I'd do it again if I have to, so don't you dare try to tell me that I'm wrong."

Silence. Just, complete silence. Dad looked pissed as fuck, Sam looked something that was almost like pride, but mostly, both of them just looked like they couldn't fucking believe that Dean had just said that. He couldn't blame either of them. Honestly, he couldn't believe it, either.

"I think I was wrong," Dad finally said. "I don't think that we'll be able to hunt together, after all."

Dean stiffened, because that was exactly what he always didn't want to hear. And for just a second, there was the overpowering urge to give in and apologize, to say that they should work this out. That they had started this fight with the three of them, and they should finish it together, too.

He didn't, though. Instead, he just took a deep breath, and nodded. "Okay," he said, and again, it didn't even sound like his own voice, and not because of the hallucinations this time. "But I'm not sticking Cas in the Impala again until he's healed more, so this time, you're the one who's going to have to leave."

It was like a frickin' out-of-body experience. No way in hell would Dean Winchester ever say those words. No way would Dean Winchester ever even imply anything close to that, not after spending so long and working so hard to try to find Dad.

No way would Dean Winchester just stand there and watch as Dad did exactly what he'd just told him to.

Dad stopped in the doorway, duffel bag thrown over one shoulder, and for a second, Dean thought that Dad was going to decide not to actually leave. And honestly, he couldn't help being relieved at the idea, even if he wasn't going to be the one to tell Dad not to go.

"I don't want either of you going after Azazel," he said. "Keep hunting, but nothing with demons, and definitely nothing that could get you killed while your soul isn't your own. I hear word of either of you getting mixed up with Azazel again, and there'll be hell to pay, you got it?"

He left without waiting for an answer. The door swung shut behind him.

Dean took a breath and counted to five, then to ten, then fifteen, and still none of them said anything. Dean didn't even know what he was supposed to say, or if there was some rule to how he was supposed to react to just throwing Dad out of the motel room.

The thing was, Dad had thrown them out before. When Sam went to Stanford, when they'd decided to stick with Cas, even sometimes when they were younger, and Dad was pissed over a hunt gone wrong and needed to be alone. Usually after Dean had been the one to mess up the hunt somehow, stupid beginner mistakes, and Dad wasn't ready to face him yet. They'd always been able to come back, though, whether it was hours or days or years after the big fight. Hell, even Sam had been accepted back onto the team, and he'd done the biggest betrayal of all, leaving the life and heading off to college.

This time, though, Dean wasn't sure if they'd ever get that option, and the thought left him feeling like he was freefalling.

Then a voice behind him said, "Dean."

Dean turned around. Cas was propped up slightly on one arm, putting the weight on his uninjured side. His face was pale – Dean could see it now. The hallucinations had faded away, still clinging to the corners of his eyes, but no longer covering the center of his vision. That meant that – finally – he could see how Cas looked for himself, not just having to rely on what Sam said and how he acted.

Cas looked good. Pale, shaky, tired, in pain, a sheen of sweat covering his body – but he didn't look like someone who'd just gotten shot, that was for sure. Dean released the breath he hadn't even noticed that he was holding, and sat back down on the edge of the bed again – carefully, making sure that he didn't jostle Cas at all. "Shit, I didn't mean to wake you up."

Cas ignored that completely. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean said quickly, because he wasn't entirely sure if that was a lie or not, but even if it was, there was no way in hell that he was going to say that to Cas and make him start worrying about Dean when he needed to be healing. He might look good for a guy with a hole in his stomach, but that sure as hell didn't mean that he was completely okay.

"You don't have to say that for my sake," Cas said immediately, because of course he'd see right through that one. "If you want to talk about it-"

"No," Dean said, before Cas could get any farther. He shook his head. "No, I think I've done enough talking." He paused, then gave the best fake laugh he could manage. "Hey, look, I actually stood up for you. Look who's being a good boyfriend this time."

If he'd thought that that would lighten the mood, he was dead wrong. Cas just kept looking at him, the serious expression on his face not shifting at all. "Yes," he finally said, acknowledging that with a nod. "But I care more about the fact that you defended yourself."

Well, shit, there wasn't really anything else to say to that. One more moment passed, then Cas winced and lowered himself back onto the pillows.

"Go back to sleep," Dean said immediately. "Trust me, man, you need it."

And it was completely obvious that Cas did, but still, he shook his head stubbornly. "I want to make sure you're okay."

"I am," Dean said quickly, then "If you're going to worry about me, at least wait until you don't look like you're on the verge of passing out. Trust me, all this shit is still going to be around when you wake up, you can get yourself all panicked over it then."

And yeah, that was definitely the most reassuring thing that he could have said. It worked, though. Either that, or it was just a testament to how decidedly not okay Cas was, because he didn't protest after that. Instead, he nodded, and his eyes slid closed again.

"Just wait until I have recovered fully," Cas said, voice low and slurred slightly, as he turned his head to press his cheek against the pillow. "I will take care of you then."

"Yeah," Dean said, and even managed a smile, though even he couldn't tell if it was real or not. "Yeah, you do that."

Cas didn't hear him, though. As far as Dean could tell, the guy was already fast asleep.

Sam was still watching him. Dean looked up, and narrowed his eyes. "I meant it," he warned. "I don't want to talk about it, and that goes for you, too."

Sam nodded. "Okay," he agreed, easily enough. Then he grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table, where it'd been left because Dad hadn't bothered to bring it with him when he collected his stuff. "Want to get drunk, then?" he asked, and shrugged. "We might as well."

And, well, who was Dean to argue with logic like that?

* * *

><p>An hour later, they found themselves sitting on the couch, both of them nursing their glasses, the half-empty bottle sitting on the table beside them. Neither of them had quite crossed the line into "drunk" yet, but they weren't entirely sober, either, which was exactly how Dean liked it.<p>

"You know," Sam suddenly said out of nowhere, "those things you said to Dad? Those were the exact same things that I was going to say. Just making sure that, you know, making sure that you know."

That... Honestly, Dean didn't know if it made him feel better or not. On one hand, he was usually the one getting super pissed off when Sam said this kind of crap to Dad, so being the one to say what was on Sam's mind? He didn't really know how to feel about that.

But then, at least he hadn't just been pulling stuff out of his ass, if Sam felt the same way. That was something, at least. Made him feel like maybe he'd had a right to say it, after all.

Okay, he still felt like he was going to get fucking crushed with guilt the moment that he stopped and thought about it, but the rest of him... didn't regret it, actually, which was weird as hell for him, and he didn't want to think about that too closely.

And in either case, he'd told Sam not to bring it up, which meant that he was basically required to flip him the bird. "Fuck off," he added for good measure, downing the last of his drink.

Sam just laughed, in that half-giggling way he had that made Dean wonder if he was a little closer to drunk than Dean had counted on.

"Just making sure you know," he said, as if that wasn't obvious enough already, then followed Dean's lead and threw back his whiskey, too.

Dean grabbed the bottle off the table, pouring both of them another glass, because screw good decision making, right? He sipped it slowly, neither of them saying anything for another few minutes. Then maybe he was closer to drunk that he'd thought, too, because he somehow decided that this was a good time to say, "About the demon blood."

Sam froze, the laughter dying from his face. "What about it?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "It's been a few days," he said. "I just wanna make sure you're okay with it."

Sam's mouth twisted slightly. "Am I okay with the fact that I have Azazel's blood running through my veins?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "No, I'm not." Another drink of whiskey, taking this one way too fast, then he added, "But I'm dealing."

"You sure?" Dean asked. "Just 'cause, you know, that seems like a big thing to be dealing with. And you didn't seem to be taking it well last time we talked." And oh yeah, this was definitely the alcohol talking. No way would Dean even think about saying any of this if he didn't have a few drinks in his stomach already.

Sam nodded, though he was staring into his drink instead of at Dean. "Yeah, I'm sure," he said, and nodded again. Though he wasn't terribly convincing, especially since he sounded like he was talking to himself more than Dean. After a second, he took a breath, and added, "I have to be, I guess. I can't change it, so I have to live with it. Getting worked up isn't going to help."

That was basically the exact same advice that Dean had given to him the last time they'd talked, but still, it sounded kind of messed up, the way that he said it. Made Dean think that they should be doing something about it, not just sitting around all resigned to their fate.

Dean didn't think there was actually anything he could do, though, that was the sucky part. It wasn't like they could travel back in time and stop Azazel from infecting Sam in the first place.

So instead, he just leaned over and elbowed Sam in the ribs. "That's why we've got to gank the bastard. Get revenge, at the very least. Show him that he messed with the wrong Winchester."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, but he still didn't look up.

Dean frowned, then elbowed Sam again, harder this time. This time it made Sam squawk a protest and look up at him, and Dean grinned. "You know, demon blood or not, I can still kick your ass."

"In your dreams," Sam shot back immediately. "I can beat you any day."

"Only 'cause I let you," Dean said, "and only 'cause you're such a frickin' pain in the ass when you don't win."

Sam shook his head, and shoved Dean hard enough to nearly knock him sideways – though, in fairness, the alcohol had a part in that, too.

"Bitch," Sam said.

Dean grinned. "Jerk."

He wasn't exactly good with the touching conversations or emotional declarations. This was the only way he knew how to cheer Sam up, to try and reassure Sam that the demon blood didn't bother Dean, at least, even if Sam was still squicked out by it. That Dean agreed with everything Cas said about the demon blood not changing who he was, or making him any less. Because Dean sure as fuck wasn't going to say any of that out loud.

Based on the way that Sam grinned back, though, Dean was pretty sure his brother had gotten the message.


	39. Part 2 Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

By three days later, Cas was about halfway toward being back to normal.

"What does this mean for your grace?" Dean asked, looking over at Cas. This was one of the only chances to be alone that they'd gotten over the past few days – considering that Cas wasn't exactly up for the kinds of activities that would send Sam scurrying from the room, there hadn't been much of a reason not to share, and getting only one room cut the cost by a lot. Still, there were downsides, especially when Sam decided to plant himself at the table with his laptop and not move for hours. Today, though, he was at the library, and Dean and Cas were taking advantage of it.

Of course, "taking advantage of it" just meant that they were stretched out on the bed together, both of them leaning back against the headboard, arms around each other's waists. Cas still wasn't ready for the kinds of things that they'd prefer to be doing, but this was nice, too. Really nice, actually. And the fact that Sam wasn't around to make fun of Dean for acting so cheesy was definitely a bonus.

Cas looked puzzled for a moment, then finally shrugged. Then he winced, since apparently any kind of movement still pulled at his wound, even though it was halfway healed already. Dean rubbed his hand up Cas' arm, trying to be comforting (which was _not_ a sappy thing to do, alright?) Cas' lips twitched into a smile for just a moment, then his face returned to its serious expression as he said, "I'm not sure. If my grace had been at full power, the wound would heal itself instantly, and I would not even feel the pain of it. The fact that I feel pain, and am healing at a much slower rate… I'm not sure what it means."

Dean frowned. "You speaking from experience?" he asked. That made Cas tilt his head more, obviously not getting what Dean meant, so Dean clarified, "When you said that you wouldn't feel it if you were shot when you were at full power. That something that happened before?"

Cas' face cleared, and he nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I am speaking from experience."

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"World Was Two," Cas said, tilting his head and thinking about on it. "I was not the only angel to come to Earth for that war – nor was it the first war that I had fought in. Heaven often added warriors to the larger battles, particularly when the outcome was as important as that was." He frowned. "I do not know when things changed, and the angels began planning on allowing the decimation of the humans that we have always been charged with protecting."

Cas paused then, like he was waiting for Dean to come out with the answer this. Dean didn't have a clue either, though, so he didn't say a word.

"Jimmy's grandfather was a soldier in the war," Cas continued after a moment. "A… companion and I came to Earth during every battle, to intervene for the Allies. I was the obvious choice, since I had a vessel among the ranks already, and my companion insisted on serving with me, though his abilities were limited, since he lacked a vessel."

Dean nodded, though by now, he wasn't as much attention. Something else had caught his thoughts.

Cas' eyes were distant now, like he was lost in his memories. "I only took his body a few times, but he prayed to me often – he credited me with saving his life. As far as I know, he never told anyone about the fact that he hadn't been himself during the worst of the battles, but he prayed to me until the moment he died." Cas paused, then added slowly, "He passed this belief onto his grandson as well. Jimmy never prayed to me, but I'm aware that he prayed. And I hate to think what the man I possessed would think if he had seen what became of his son. Even if it wasn't my fault." The last part was tacked on to the end, almost like he was adding it for Dean's benefit more than he believed it himself. And Dean was going to say something about that, but then Cas suddenly asked, "Are you okay?"

Dean started at the question. He hadn't even realized that he had been frowning down at his lap until Cas had said something, and now he quickly looked up. "Nothing," he said.

That only made Cas' concern grow stronger, and he squinted his eyes, watching Dean closely. "You don't like it when I speak of being shot? Or when I speak of Jimmy?"

Well, there was that, too, though Dean wasn't going to get worked up about the shooting thing. Hell, he had plenty of shooting stories that he could tell Cas, and all of his were much less pleasant, considering that he actually felt the pain whenever he got hurt. So no, that wasn't the main reason. Neither was the talk about Jimmy, as much as he didn't like to think about it.

"It's nothing," Dean repeated, but Cas was still staring at him and waiting for an answer, so finally, Dean said, "I guess it's just sinking in, how much stuff you've lived through."

Cas, though, shook his head.

"I have experienced much," he said slowly, "but existing as an angel is far different than living as an human. Being human… the world suddenly changes into something new. It's far more painful, of course, but also more… colorful, somehow."

Dean's mouth felt dry, and he swallowed hard. "You mean that?"

"Yes," Cas said. "Why wouldn't I?"

Dean shrugged. "Don't know," he said, even though he actually had a pretty good idea. And he wasn't really planning on saying anything more, but then he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Do you think your powers will ever come back completely? Like, will you even be a full angel again?"

Cas was silent for a long minute before answering, like he was giving the question a whole lot of thought. "I don't know," he finally said. "Perhaps they will someday. I hope that they do."

Dean swallowed again, and nodded.

"You look upset again," Cas said.

That was something else that Dean didn't know how to respond to, so he just gave another shrug.

"You don't want me to be an angel?" Cas asked, after another moment of confused silence.

"What?' Dean asked, then quickly shook his head. "No, of course not. We already covered that when you first got your mojo back, remember?" Cas nodded, acknowledging that, but he still looked worried, so Dean tried to think of something else he could add. "I mean, okay," he finally admitted, "it was weird at first. But then, what the hell in my life isn't?" He snorted. "I should've known that I couldn't just end up with a normal guy."

"You didn't," Cas pointed out. "Even before you realized that I wasn't human, you had begun a relationship with a man with no memories and a fake name." He thought for another moment, then added, "And even before you knew about that, you had begun a relationship with a man with no family or friends, who had lived on the street and did not understand many basic aspects of human behavior."

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile. "Okay, you got me there," he said. "Guess I was always destined to fall in love with some real weirdo. Actually, now that I think about it, dating an angel is probably pretty tame when you consider some of the stuff I could get up to."

He'd expected that to get a smile from Cas, or an eye roll, or at least some kind of reaction. Instead, Cas was just staring at him, looking downright shocked.

"What?" Dean finally said, after a minute passed without Cas even blinking, he swore, and even though he was used to this sort of thing, it was still starting to get a little creepy.

Even after Dean said something, it was another few moments before Cas collected himself enough to answer.

"I don't know the social protocol for this," he finally said, "but I assume that it's okay to say that I love you, too?"

Dean's eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head. "Fuck, I didn't-" he immediately started protesting, out of pure habit more than anything else. Then he paused, and actually let Cas' words sink in. "Wait, seriously?"

Cas frowned, though he looked more confused than anything else. "I would not lie about something so important," he said, completely serious. "You know that, don't you?"

"Well, yeah," Dean said. And it wasn't like he thought that Cas was lying, exactly. It was just… "_Seriously?_"

This time, Cas just nodded, though his frown had deepened.

"Huh," Dean said. "Well, how about that."

Cas studied Dean's face for a moment, his eyes narrowing and forehead furrowing, doing all of the typical things that he did whenever he was confused about something. Except this time, Dean could tell the exact moment that Cas understood.

"You don't believe me," Cas said slowly. "You know that I am not lying, and you still don't believe me. I don't understand."

Dean shook his head, because this sounded exactly like the kind of subject that they didn't need to be getting into. "It's nothing."

"No," Cas said firmly. "Tell me. Explain, please."

"It's nothing," Dean repeated, more insistently this time. "It's just that you're-"

"I'm what?" Cas asked.

"It's just that you're a friggin' angel, alright?" Dean finally said, and shook his head, turning away.

"We've established that," Cas said, and it was still so obvious that the guy didn't get it. "I fail to see the issue."

"It's just, you're an _angel_," Dean said, because apparently he couldn't think of anything more coherent than that. "That's got to be a much bigger deal than being a human. Not sure what you're getting out of this arrangement."

He could understand it when they were both humans – he knew he was a good looking guy, and he could even see why the guy might like his personality, even if Dean was pretty sure he spent half the time sounding like an ass. (He was a charming ass, though, at the very least.) It made more sense when you factored in that this was a guy with no memories and nowhere to go – so he was clinging to Dean and Sam, since he didn't have anyone else, and he just happened to be clinging to Dean a little bit harder, and in some much-more-fun ways. Dean got that. Hell, he could even see why Cas would stick around after he'd gotten his grace back. They had work to do, and Cas was powered down enough that he needed all the help he could get. Plus, you know, the sex was awesome. Dean figured that even an angel would want to keep that up.

Being in love, though? That was a whole other ballgame, one that Dean hadn't exactly counted on ever playing, and especially not after he'd found out that Cas was some immortal being who had probably been around for the creation of the universe, and had definitely had millions of years to meet humans – no way Dean could be that special. And sure, maybe he'd known that he was in love with Cas for a while. He'd figured that one out pretty much the exact same second that he'd burst into that barn and found Cas bleeding but somehow still alive. He hadn't thought about it, though. And for fuck's sake, he hadn't planned on saying it out loud.

"For the moment, I am very close to human," Cas said slowly, glancing down at himself.

Dean nodded. Right. Yeah, that explained it, at least. "And let's say you get your powers back," he said. "What then?"

Cas was silent for a long moment before he finally answered. "I find it unlikely that my grace will ever heal completely," he said. "But even if it did, I don't think that I could ever return to truly being an angel – not in the way that I was before, at least. I see the world differently now. I could regain my powers and regrow my wings, and I still believe that I would consider myself human."

That… was a different answer than he'd been expecting, actually.

"Okay," Dean said after a moment, and cleared his throat. "But what are you actually going to do?"

"I don't follow," Cas said. "I don't see the point in making plans for an event that may never occur."

"Just humor me, dude," Dean said, shaking his head.

Cas still looked confused, but he finally nodded. "Give me a moment," he said, and then went silent. Dean sat there for a minute, fidgeting, and he was half tempted to snap at Cas to just hurry up and say something. The only reason he didn't was because he could tell that Cas was considering what to say next – like, really considering it, like it was the most important question he'd ever been asked.

And, well, Dean kinda wanted to hear the answer.

"We would not have to drive anywhere," was what Cas ended up saying first. His forehead was still scrunched up, and he was staring at Dean like every word out of his mouth was the most important thing he'd ever said. "Of course, I'm sure that you would find that distasteful, but Sam would be happy during the longer trips, and it would allow us to move much faster." He paused then, just for a moment, then continued, "And Azazel would be far easier to deal with. I have never seen him, so I do not know for sure, but there is a good chance that he would be too strong for me to simply smite with my powers. The hellhounds that come for you, though – I would be able to kill them with a snap of my fingers, and you will never have to worry about them taking your soul. Then I would transport to Azazel's side, and stab him before he knew of my presence, and his death would mean that you would once again have your soul."

Dean was staring at Cas now, and he was fairly certain that his mouth was open, as stupid as that was. Not that Cas seemed to notice. He still looked like he was locked in his own world, thinking hard about what would come next.

"Even with Azazel dead, there would still be problems that needed to be dealt with," he said. "There is Naomi, of course, and the rest of Azazel's followers. Not to mention that there are all sorts of monsters and ghosts that we have to take care of. But hunting would be far easier if I could speak to someone and be able to tell from their soul whether they were telling the truth. And I wouldn't worry about your safety, or about Sam's, if I knew that I could simply touch you and your injuries would heal."

Cas nodded then, looking proud of himself all of a sudden, and Dean could tell that he was done talking, and that he liked what he'd just said. Dean, though, could just keep staring, and didn't think he'd be able to stop any time soon.

"Seriously?" Dean asked, after another few seconds had passed. "That's what you picture when you think about your powers coming back?"

Cas tilted his head, looking confused. "What else would I do?"

Dean shrugged, and shook his head again. "You're an angel, man," he said, and he knew that Cas still didn't get why he kept repeating that, but he couldn't stop saying it, anyway. "I figured you'd be off to Heaven, or wherever else angels go, to do… whatever the hell angels do when they've got their wings." He waved a hand, knowing that he probably sounded frickin' stupid, but he didn't care so much about the wording right then.

"I would not be allowed back into Heaven, even if it was possible for me to return," Cas said. "I would be killed instantly." Dean nodded, and had just enough time to feel disappointed, before Cas said, "But even if returning to Heaven was an option, I would prefer to stay on Earth with you and your brother." Cas stopped, then frowned. "If I can, I mean," he said, his voice much lower, suddenly not sounding as certain, almost like he was the one who had reason to be worried.

"'Course you can," Dean said. The idea that he or Sam were ever going to kick Cas to the curb was ridiculous. "But why would you want to?"

Cas had relaxed when he'd heard Dean's answer, and began to smile. Now, though, he stiffened again, and the frown slid back into place. "I don't understand."

"You can go anywhere, do anything," Dean insisted, spreading his hands in some vague gesture. "Or, okay, maybe you don't have a whole lot of options right now," he admitted after a moment. "You're kinda stuck here whether you want to be or not. But let's say your wings grow back, or whatever. Then you actually could do anything – hell, you could probably go places I can't even imagine. Why stick around?"

Cas didn't have to think this time. He didn't even hesitate. "Because you're my family."

Dean shook his head. "You don't have to stick around just because you think you have to, though."

"That's not what I'm doing," Cas said, then slowly sat up and turned himself to face Dean. He was obviously being careful, but Dean still saw him wince, like just moving was hurting him.

"Whoa, you should keep still, you're still recovering," Dean protested, but Cas was already on his knees facing Dean, arms raised to cup Dean's face with both hands. He leaned forward, stopping when their faces were only inches apart.

"Dean," he said, voice low, and completely serious. "I rebelled for you. Everything I have done, it was for you. Admittedly, saving your life had more to do with righting an injustice than with any personal feelings toward you, but it doesn't change the fact that I gave up everything for you." He paused, staring hard into Dean's eyes, then said, "And I will always make the same choice, if given the chance to do so again. Now, though, one thing has changed. Now, when I say that I would surrender my grace again in an instant in order to protect you, I'm not doing it just because it is the right thing to do. I would do it because I love you, and will not allow you to be harmed."

Dean sat there, trying to figure out what to even say back to that. Then he thought, _Screw it,_ and grabbed Cas to kiss him.

"I take it that my explanation was sufficient, then?" Cas said.

Dean cleared his throat, and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'd say that that was… sufficient."

Cas smiled. "I meant what I said completely," he said, looking like he just had to be sure that Dean understood. "I'm in love with you."

Dean smiled back. "Right back at ya," he said. And, well, he probably should have gone with something a lot more deep and meaningful and all that shit, especially considering how Cas had just given him a whole freakin' speech. But honestly, it was hard enough just saying this out loud. He didn't think he had it in him for the cheesy stuff.

Judging by the way that Cas was smiling, though, he didn't exactly have a problem with it.

"Now come on," Dean said, moving his hands to Cas' shoulders and gently helping him lean back against the bed frame again. "You should be resting some more. Seriously, man, you just got shot."

"And I have recovered," Cas countered, though he did go back to reclining against the frame, just like Dean wanted. The movement made him grimace, and he amended, "Mostly recovered. Recovered enough that I don't need to be lying around every moment." He reached up and hooked his fingers under the collar of Dean's shirt. "I can think of other activities that we should be doing."

"Dude," Dean said, and pulled back slightly, even though that was definitely the last thing that he wanted to be doing at the exact moment. "You're still recovering, remember?"

"We will be careful," Cas said. "We won't do anything too strenuous." Then he leaned forward to kiss Dean again, and really, how was he supposed to argue with that?"

"That's definitely an unfair way to win an argument," Dean murmured, breaking the kiss just long enough to grin at Cas.

Cas tilted his head. "Are you complaining?"

Dean grinned wider, and shook his head. "Definitely not." And to prove it, he was the one who leaned forward to kiss Cas this time.

Oh, yeah, Sam was definitely going to be glad that he had chosen today to not hang around the motel room. Then Dean pushed all of those thoughts away, since the last thing he wanted to do right then was think about his brother. Instead, he turned all of his attention toward focusing on Cas, his kinda-an-angel boyfriend who was apparently in _love_ with him, and Dean was still having a hard time believing it.

He wasn't going to let himself question it, though. Not right now, at least.

For now, he was just going to enjoy it.

* * *

><p>Cas insisted that he was tired of being stuck in the motel room, and Dean had to admit that he had a point – Dean would be crawling up the walls if he spent three straight days in one room.<p>

And anyway, he really was healing up pretty well, which was why they all ended up loading into the Impala and heading down to the nearest diner, instead of eating takeout in the motel for the millionth time in a row.

The place was greasy to the extreme, and smelled like bacon even though breakfast had been over for hours, which meant that Dean pretty much considered it to be the best restaurant ever. He expected Sam to disagree, but he didn't even make any snide comments about the number of heart attacks that this place had to be causing.

Which… was actually pretty worrying, to be honest. Come to think of it, Sam had been quiet during the ride over here, too. Which probably meant that he'd found something during his little library trip, and Dean was not looking forward to hearing what it was.

He didn't get the chance to ask, though, because they'd barely been in the dinner for five seconds before a girl with bubblegum pink hair and a nametag reading HOLLY! practically dragged them to a booth in the corner of the room.

"Here you go," she chirped, popping menus into each of their hands. "I'll be back in just a minute to take your order." Then she skipped off, probably to go pounce on some other unsuspecting diners.

It didn't take Dean long to figure out what he wanted – there was something called a bacon deluxe chili cheeseburger on the menu, which pretty much made his decision for him. Sam and Cas took longer, mostly because Cas was questioning Sam on every item on the menu, trying to figure out which was the healthiest. He'd been on a super health kick ever since his grace had come back, which made sense, Dean guessed, since he said that all foods tasted disgusting to him now, so he didn't have any reason to not take care of his vessel. Though Dean was pretty sure that Cas still had a fondness for hamburgers above anything else.

Dean took a moment just to watch the two of them. And yup, Sam definitely had some terrible discovery to share, that was just wonderful. Cas hadn't seemed to notice Sam's stiff expression, though. He was too busy leaning forward to squint at the menu, studying it like it was some ancient code, one finger tracing the page as he moved from item to item. They'd finally gotten around to buying themselves whole new wardrobes over the break, which had included yet another new trench coat for Cas, since the guy couldn't seem to make it through one case without it getting destroyed somehow. This one was a different brand than the other two had been, and was just a tiny bit too big on him, meaning that the sleeves kept falling over to cover his fingertips as he traced the menu items. It was frickin' adorable, honestly, and it made Dean wonder how he'd ever gotten this guy to fall in love with him.

And god, he was thinking of it again. He felt pathetic, like a teenager with his first boyfriend, talking about how he _just couldn't get him out of his head!_ He couldn't help it, though. His mind just kept circling around to him.

Cas was in love with him.

It was weird, honestly. But nice.

Definitely nice.

And Dean needed to shut down and stop thinking before he embarrassed himself even more than he already had. He just hoped that there were no mind readers around to know how lame he was being.

He had just finished thinking that when suddenly there was a girl sitting in the seat next to Sam. All of them jumped – or, Dean and Sam jumped, actually. Cas just blinked, like he was mildly surprised by the woman who'd just randomly decided to appear in their midst.

After Dean calmed down a bit and took a breath, he realized that it was Hester. He almost didn't recognize her now that she was just sitting there and not throwing Cas into any cars. Maybe that'd explain why Cas looked so calm, though – he was probably used to this angel shit.

"What are you doing here?" Dean demanded, leaning forward, sticking his hand into the inside of his jacket to close his fist around the handle of the angel blade. He wasn't going to draw it in the middle of a crowded restaurant, not yet, but if that bitch tried anything-

Hester blinked, and if she noticed Dean's angry tone, she didn't comment. "I'm here to help you."

"Help?" Dean demanded. "And where exactly were you and your help at a few days ago, huh?"

"I was in Heaven," Hester said, then frowned. "I'm sorry, I heard your prayers-"

"Wait," Sam said, before she could say anything more, and turned sharply toward Dean. "You prayed?"

Dean scowled. "Shut up," he grumbled, then shook his head and turned back to Hester. "And what, Cas bleeding out wasn't important enough for you to fly your ass in and help us?"

"I was more concerned with not leading Naomi to your location," Hester said, looking at Dean with narrowed eyes. "She has begun to suspect me. I thought that leading her off track would be more important than fixing Castiel immediately."

And, okay, Dean couldn't exactly argue with that. Didn't mean that he wasn't still pissed as fuck, though.

Cas, though, had other concerns. "Are you certain that you evaded them?" he asked, leaning forward. "None of them could have followed you in secret?"

"They did not," Hester said simply, then stood and leaned forward to stretch her arm across the table, awkwardly pressing her hand against Cas' stomach. Dean immediately drew the angel blade, ready to slam it into her arm before she could do a thing to Cas – here to help them or not, no way did he trust her.

The moment her hand touched him, though, Cas straightened, the last of the pain disappearing from his eyes. He nodded once. "Thank you."

Hester nodded back, and returned to her seat. "It is the least I can do."

Dean quickly stuck the blade back into his jacket, and glanced around to make sure that nobody had noticed.

"So then, I take it you're on our side?" Sam asked, glancing back and forth between Cas and Hester.

"I am," she said. "It was impossible for me not to join, after I'd seen for myself that Castiel had been telling the truth."

"What has Heaven been like since I have been gone?" Cas asked immediately, and Dean could hear in his voice how worried he was.

Hester pressed her lips together. Whatever he answer was going to be, it definitely wasn't a happy one.

"Chaos," she said. "At least on my part."

Then of course, happy waitress Holly chose that exact moment to bounce back over to their table. "Have you decided what-" she started to ask, then broke off, staring at Hester in confusion.

"Our friend slipped in to join us," Sam said quickly, before the girl could start asking questions.

"Oh," Holly said, glancing back toward the door. "But I was watching… I'm sorry, I didn't see you come in. Hang on, I can grab you a menu."

"I don't eat," Hester said, her voice flat, without any emotions. Dean half wondered if she was doing it on purpose. He'd heard her sound pissy and upset and worried before, so he knew she had it in her. Meaning that he was pretty sure that she was just sounding emotionless now to freak someone out or piss Dean off, one of the two.

"I'll have the number three with coffee, please," Sam said quickly. The waitress was still staring at Hester, but she quickly shook her head and scrambled to write that down. Dean and Cas placed their orders quickly – Cas did end up getting a hamburger instead of some salad thing, Dean had freakin' called it – and she hurried off toward the kitchens.

"It's not nice to confuse the humans," Cas said, narrowing her eyes at Hester.

Hester just stared. "What did I do?"

Okay, so maybe she _was_ just completely clueless, with some weird, freaky, emotionless voice as her default. Good to know.

Instead of bothering to explain, Cas just shook his head and said, "Tell us more about the Heaven situation." Dean recognized as the same thing that he'd done to Cas a few times, figuring that whatever it was that Cas didn't understand this time wasn't important enough to waste time going on about. It was weird having Cas be the one to do it, though.

Hester frowned, but didn't complain about the subject change. Instead, she said, "Naomi has been denying the fact that you are still alive, and still maintains that you were slain for your crimes months ago, immediately after you first saved Dean Winchester. I have been trying to convince people otherwise, but for the most part, they don't believe me." Her frown deepened, and after a moment, she added, "I have had to be careful about who I tell, though. Naomi has some of her most trusted angels searching for you as I speak, and if they find you, they will destroy you on sight. She isn't going to give you another chance to escape her."

Cas looked worried, but not surprised. "Yes, I know," he said, then slid his hand so that it was pressed flat against his stomach, right above his tattoo. "She will not find us," he promised, though it looked like he was speaking more toward Dean and Sam than to Hester now.

"So, what exactly does all of this mean?" Sam asked, and his voice was hesitant – wasn't that cute, Sam was nervous about talking to the angel – but he didn't flinch or look away when she turned towards him, so, you know, good on him. "You're trying to, what? Put Naomi out of power?"

"I am not doing anything yet," Hester said, her voice clipped and precise, "beyond doing my best to sway the angels that I can to my side. But if you want to know about my eventual plans, then I would say that this would lead to a full-scale revolution, to take Naomi and the archangels out of power, and to ensure that the angels never again choose to lower themselves to the demons' level."

A silence fell over the table at her words, like none of them knew exactly what they were supposed to do to follow a grand pronouncement like that – say what you wanted about this angel, but she definitely had a flair for the dramatic. Then Cas asked, "What have you been doing so far? Who is on your side?"

Hester's frown was back now – okay, that wasn't encouraging – but she answered, "I have spoken with Inias. He has taken over as the leader of your old garrison. If he joins me, then all of his – of your – angels will as well. He, like the other angels that I have spoken with, does not seem to be certain of what he should do, or whether he can believe the things that I have told him."

"So, basically, you haven't convinced anyone," Dean said.

"No," Hester confirmed, though she didn't sound upset about it, or even a little discouraged. "But the angels are _thinking_."

Okay, there was obviously some emphasis on that last word. Dean waited for a minute – well, maybe more like ten seconds – expecting that she was going to explain that, but she didn't. Finally, Dean got tired of waiting, and decided to just hurry up and ask. "So? It's just thinking, for crying out loud. It's not like happy thoughts about the revolution is actually going to make it happen."

Cas, though, was shaking his head before the words were even fully out of Dean's mouth. "You don't understand, Dean," he said, and his voice was low, almost reverent. "Angels were not created for individual thought. We were created to follow orders, and that is what we have always done." He paused for a moment, then said, "Either that, or Naomi has rewritten the angels' minds enough to make them incapable of individual thought. I no longer know which it is, but it doesn't matter. The idea that angels might actually decide to turn against what they have been told to do? It's extraordinary."

Dean just stared at him, frowning. "You've always been thinking on your own," he said. "You didn't even need someone to force you into deciding stuff."

"Well, yes," Cas said, and Dean swore he saw just a tiny bit of pride in Cas' expression as he added, "I was an exception."

"Right," Dean said slowly, then turned toward Hester, "So, they're thinking. Good?"

"Good," Hester confirmed with a nod. "If the angels are thinking, then that means that we stand a chance of swaying them to our side. Already, I believe that some are considering the possibility. All that we need is some final gesture to bring them to our side, and then we will be able to stand against Naomi." She smiled in a way that made her look more fierce than happy, then returned her gaze to Cas. "Most recently, I have been speaking with Balthazar."

Balthazar. Dean was sure that he had heard that name before, he just wasn't sure where. The change in Cas was instant, though. He stiffened, something like hope or nervousness or worry crossing his face in about a split second, way too fast for Dean to see what it was before Cas had already smoothed his expression out again. And suddenly, Dean remembered exactly where that name had come from. Back when he'd been being tortured by that witch, weeks ago, before Cas had gotten his memories back, he'd made up a story about having family who would come track them down. Balthazar had been the name that he had used for his brother. And then Cas had said that he didn't actually know anything about that name, and refused to talk more, but Dean had known that something was going on.

Now, he was pretty sure that he had figured out what. Or, he thought that he had a vague idea, at least.

"I doubt that Balthazar would be interested in joining our revolution," Cas said. "He's not the type to get his hands dirty."

"He was also devastated when he heard the news of your supposed death," she said. "And is one of the only angels to believe me when I say that you still live. He will join us, in spirit if nowhere else."

Cas opened his mouth to say something else, then shut it, then frowned. "Thank you for telling me all of this," was what he finally said. "Please keep me informed as soon as you know more, or if you learn anything regarding the demon Azazel."

"I will," she promised, inclining her head slowly, the way that one would when talking to a king or a ruler or something, which instantly made Cas frown deeper and squirm uncomfortably. "It may be several days before I can speak to you again," she said as she lifted her head. "Naomi has begun to suspect me, as I said before. I do not know when or if I will be able to return."

Cas nodded. "I won't count on your return any time soon, then," he said, "but I will continue sending you prayers, then, so that you will be able to find us again. And you can send me messages through the wavelengths, if you stand the chance?"

Naomi frowned, and shook her head. "I don't think that I'll be able to do that," she said. "As far as I can tell, Naomi has cut you off. Allowing you to listen would be too much of a risk, and the last thing we want is for her to use them to track you down."

"Yes," Cas agreed immediately. "But you had allowed me to listen to the angels before, when I was human, didn't you? And Naomi never found me then. There must be a way to allow me to listen in without her knowing."

Dean thought that that was a fair point. It definitely made sense, at least. But apparently Hester didn't think that way, because she just frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I did nothing of the sort."

Cas opened his mouth, then closed it, looking utterly confused. "But then, why was I able to hear them?" he asked. "Something must have caused it."

"If you could hear the angels while still human, then yes, there must be a reason," Hester said, speaking slowly. It was clear that she didn't understand it any more than Cas did. "But I was not the cause. Actually, I had meant for you to be cut off from the angels completely, so that you would never again get involved, and the fact that you still lived wouldn't be revealed. I never would have allowed you to listen to the angels at all, had I known."

For a moment, none of them spoke, and it was obvious that all four of them were trying – and failing – to think of a solution. Then Hester cleared her throat, and said, "I must leave. There are many other matters to attend to. Whatever the answer to this mystery is, you must find it for yourself." She closed her eyes.

"Wait," Cas said suddenly, and Hester's expression turned puzzled, staring at him in confusion. Cas glanced around the restaurant, then said, "You can't just disappear from the middle of a crowded room," he said, and made a vague gesture toward where Holly was standing behind the register by the door as he added, "You're going to frighten the humans. You have to leave like a normal person would, then you can transport away when there's no one around to see you."

Hester still looked a little confused, but she inclined her head, and didn't argue. "Very well," she said, and stood.

Cas quickly stood as well. "I will see you off," he said, and led her toward the exit, with her trailing behind her like the lost puppy that Cas normally looked like. It was like a complete role reversal, and honestly, Dean was feeling kinda proud. His little Cassy was all grown up.

"So," Dean said, turning back toward Sam. "Angels, man."

"I think that having her on our side will be good," Sam said after a moment.

"Yeah," Dean said, and snorted. "Two and a half men trying to take on the leaders of Heaven? I think we at least need one real angel to back us up."

Sam grimaced, and from that, Dean could tell that he knew how bad the odds sounded. "We'll worry about this later," he finally said. "Right now, Azazel's got to be the main priority."

"One thing at a time, right?" Dean asked, and Sam nodded.

Dean glanced over to the side then, wondering where Cas was, and why it was taking him so long to walk Hester the twenty feet to the door. The doors were glass, so he could see that Cas and Hester were standing just outside the restaurant, looking like they were deep in conversation. It was something serious, at least judging by the look on Cas' face as Hester slowly shook her head.

And that reminded of something else that was serious, and he turned back to Sam. "You find anything at the library today?" he asked. "Because you've spent this whole time looking like someone kicked your puppy."

And yup, that kicked-puppy look was instantly back on his face, though honestly, he looked a lot more worried than upset. "Yeah, I found something," he said. "I'll tell you when Cas gets back."

Dean was going to protest against that – he'd never been that good with the whole "have patience" thing – but a glance at the door was enough to tell him that Cas and Hester were finishing up. Cas was frowning, but he nodded, then reached forward to clasp Hester on the shoulder. Hester returned the gesture, then immediately vanished into nothing – which, okay, that wasn't exactly inconspicuous, but at least she hadn't done it in the middle of the restaurant, so that was a little better?

Cas stood where he was for a few more seconds, staring straight ahead of him, not even moving an inch. Then he abruptly turned to stride back into the restaurant.

"What was that about?" Dean asked and Cas slid back into the booth beside him.

"Nothing important," Cas said shortly, in a voice that made it clear that they weren't allowed to ask any more. Then he seemed to realize how angry he'd sounded, because his face softened, and he shook his head. "I requested help with something, and she was unable to grant it. It does not have to be discussed in more detail."

Huh. That was weird, but Dean decided not to demand the details now – he could always do that later, after all. Instead, he immediately turned back to Sammy, and asked, "What did you find?"

Sam nodded, then took a deep breath. "Gordon is dead," he said. "He was murdered last night."

Dean blinked. Based on the buildup, he had expected something a whole lot bigger than that. Not that that wasn't surprising news – Dean definitely hadn't expected it – but, well…

"Is this important?" Cas asked slowly, echoing Dean's thoughts exactly. He frowned, then said, "I don't mean to be callous, but he did kidnap Dean, attempt to murder you, and shoot me with a gun that would have permanently destroy me had it been loaded with the proper bullet. I know that we are supposed to love all of God's creations, but in all honesty, I have a hard time feeling sorry about this loss."

"You and me both, buddy," Dean said, reaching over and squeezing Cas' hand under the table, then looking at Sam. "You want to explain why you're getting so worked up about this?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Because he was ripped apart by Hellhounds, from the sound of it, and he doesn't sound like the kind to sell her soul," he said. "And because Gordon's entire arsenal was found scattered around him, but the police can't tell if anything was stolen. It obviously wasn't a robbery – the police think that the murders were looking for something in particular." He paused, and when Dean and Cas still didn't say anything, he asked, "What did Gordon have in his possession that the demons would just love to get their hands on?"

Dean got it.

"Shit," he swore, at the same moment that Cas said, "The Colt."

"Exactly," Sam said grimly.

The three of them were silent for a minute. Then Cas cleared his throat. "We still have the last bullet in the safe, don't we?" he asked, looking to Sam for the answer. Sam nodded, and Cas continued, "The Colt will not be used against us unless they manage to take the bullet as well. We still don't have the Colt, but the situation hasn't changed at all."

"You're right," Dean said quickly, and squeezed Cas' hand again, harder this time. "You're right. Nothing's changed, really. We've still got the bullet and the angel blade. We can still do this."

Sam hesitated, then slowly nodded once, though he didn't look convinced. Dean didn't blame him. He hadn't convinced himself, either.

"We can do this," he repeated, just for good measure.

But it didn't change the fact that he could feel dread creeping over him, telling him that the three of them were completely, irrevocably screwed.

* * *

><p>They spent the rest of the dinner talking strategy. By the time they were leaving, they'd even figured something. It wasn't exactly a good plan, but it was something, at least.<p>

"You're positive that we shouldn't go investigate Gordon's death first?" Sam asked as he climbed into the Impala.

Dean shook his head. They'd been over this a couple times already, and Sam knew all the reasons why they'd decided against it. Dean could tell that he was nervous, though. He didn't want to go into this without knowing exactly what they were up against, and whether the demons really did have the Colt. Hell, Dean could definitely relate to that. Didn't mean it was exactly a good idea.

"Whether the demons have the Colt will not have any large impact on our plan," Cas said firmly, leaning forward to stick his head between Dean and Sam's seats as Dean pulled out and headed back for the motel. "We will make sure that the safe in the motel is heavily warded, so that the demons won't be able to get into it, and then we travel to a different location and begin the summoning."

"Cas knows the spell," Dean said, for probably the dozenth time. "Bobby can get us all the ingredients that we need, and Cas has the- whatever it is."

"The symbol of Azazel," Cas said. "We need something that belongs to him, and that will be our best option." He frowned, then added, "It won't be as strong as if we had some of his blood, but so long as the symbol is drawn properly, it will do its job."

"Blood," Sam said thoughtfully, and when Dean glanced over at him, he was staring down at his arm. "Would my blood work?"

"What?" Dean demanded.

"Think about it," Sam urged. "I have Azazel's blood in me. Wouldn't that be enough for us to work the spell?"

Dean didn't have a frickin' clue what to say for that, so he just looked back at Cas, deciding that Cas had to be the one to handle this one.

Cas was frowning, this look on his face that made it obvious that he was lost in thought. "In theory, yes," he said reluctantly. "The fact that he infected you with some of his blood does, in some senses, mean that your blood could be used interchangeably. I'm not entirely sure if it would work, but in theory-" He broke off, then shook his head. "It's alright. The symbol will be sufficient, and we know for certain that it will be effective. That's the option that we should choose."

"You're sure?" Sam asked. "Because if my blood can make the spell stronger-"

"I don't know that it would," Cas said. "You don't have much of his blood, after all. Perhaps if it was the other way around, and Azazel were the one to have been infected with your blood, then it would be easier. As it is, though, the symbol is out best option."

Sam grimaced, but nodded. "Okay," he said, but it was obvious that he was disappointed. Dean could almost understand it. Azazel giving Sam his blood, and then Sam turning around and using that same blood to summon Azazel and kill him? There was an element of poetic justice to that, which Dean definitely liked. But more than that, he could imagine what Sam was thinking. If the demon blood was used for something, then at least something good would have come out of the fact that it'd been given to him. Dean could see why that would be attractive.

"It doesn't matter how it happens," Dean said quickly. "Just as long as Azazel dies, we're good."

"Exactly," Cas agreed. "And I know that it will be dangerous – there's a reason why had vetoed this idea initially, after all. But with any luck, we'll be able to kill Azazel before he realizes what we're up to."

"It's not the best plan, but it's definitely the best chance that we've got right now," Dean added.

"I know, I know," Sam said, and though it was obvious he was still worried, he turned to Dean and nodded. "Okay. We call Bobby tomorrow."

"Sounds good," Dean agreed, and just like that, they had a plan. More than twenty years of chasing this thing, and now, they finally had a way to bring this to an end. He didn't know whether he should be excited or terrified. All he knew that was one way or another, all of this was going to end.

* * *

><p>There was a couple other questions that Dean had about their encounter with Hester, and not just about what she and Cas had been talking about right before she'd disappeared. Somehow, though, Dean got the feeling that it was something that he should bring up in private, like Cas might be more likely to talk about it if it was just the two of them, without Sam hanging around. He didn't know where he got that idea from, but there it was.<p>

So when Sam announced that he was going to go take a shower quickly, Dean waited until he could hear the water turn on, then turned to Cas and asked, "Who's Balthazar?"

Cas frowned, and for a moment, Dean thought that Cas was going to say the same thing that he'd said last time, pretending not to know him or something. Then Cas looked up at him and said, "He-"

Cas didn't make it past that one word before he stopped and frowned. "Angels don't have genders, of course," he said. "Or, I consider myself male, more or less. A side effect of spending so many weeks as a human. And some angels do tend to prefer one gender of vessel, but overall, it is rarely of consequence. But the English language is… difficult with pronouns. Angels don't use them, of course. Typically it is simplest to refer to the angel as whatever gender their vessel is in the moment, but as Balthazar was not inhabiting a vessel the last time I saw him, I'm not quite sure what to say." He paused, looking at Dean like he was waiting for a reaction.

"Okay," Dean finally said. "No genders. Got it. Because that's not weird at all."

"It isn't, actually," Cas said, looking confused by the very suggestion that that might not be normal. "Balthazar hasn't been to Earth for several decades, but the last vessel he used was male, though, so I suppose that I should continue with those pronouns."

"I guess that makes sense," Dean said. What the hell, right? He'd accepted that Cas was some badass winged being who had existed for millions of years. He could wrap his head around this, he guessed.

Cas smiled at him, but the smile slipped away as he continued his story. "As I was saying, Balthazar was a comrade in battle. We fought against Lucifer together at the beginning of time, and I have considered him to be a close friend ever since."

"…Right," Dean said slowly, because _holy shit_. Even though he had gotten used to the whole "angel" thing, he still tended to forget that Cas was literally as old as time (or, well, close enough, at least), and that things like Lucifer's rebellion had actually happened. Then he settled back against one of the pillows on the bed where he and Cas were sitting together, and said, "Tell me about it."

Instantly, Cas' eyes got a far away look, like he was loosing himself in some memory – and not a good one, either. A long minute passed, until Dean was almost starting to regret even asking the question.

Then, finally, Cas spoke.

"It was incredibly horrible," he said softly. "More angels would die in a single battle than in all of the millenniums that have passed since its end." He paused, and Dean was sure that he wasn't going to say anything more, but then he took a deep breath and continued. "Balthazar was a member of my garrison, though he behaved differently than the other angels. He was never one for blindly following orders, even back then. And he was never simply a soldier. We fought side by side."

Dean nodded, partly because he wasn't sure what he should say to that, and because he wasn't sure if Cas was done speaking or not. And sure enough, it was only a few seconds before Cas continued, "Balthazar saved my life once, actually. I had been struck my a wave of burning holy oil," Dean shuddered at that mental image, "and the Rit Zien-"

"Rit what?" Dean asked.

"Rit Zien," Cas said slowly. "They are… I suppose that they could be compared to doctors. Their job is to heal the angels who have been injured in battle, and if the injuries are extensive enough that the angel cannot be saved, their job is to grant the angel a painless death." Dean nodded once to show that he understood, and Cas continued, "The Rit Zien believed that I was not able to be saved, but Balthazar thought otherwise."

Cas didn't say anything for a moment. Dean just waited, not taking his eyes off of Cas – and he definitely was doing his best not to think about Cas getting covered in burning oil and getting burned up badly enough that he was supposed to die. It didn't matter that Cas was here and clearly okay. Dean just wasn't going to picture that, no way.

"I'm still not entirely sure what Balthazar did," Cas finally said. "He has always had his secrets, too many for anyone to ever discover. But somehow, I healed. I missed the remainder of the war – Lucifer had already been cast into Hell by the time that I recovered enough to return to the battlefield – but here I am, somehow alive."

"Well," Dean said, and cleared his throat. "If you see him again, tell him thanks from me, then. Because, you know, I'm kinda glad that you're still around."

"Yes," Cas said, and his eyes lost the distant look, and instead met Dean's. "I am very glad to be here, as well," he added slowly, and leaned toward Dean, resting his head against Dean's shoulder, allowing Dean to wrap his arm around Cas' back. And Dean didn't know if Cas had meant "here" as in alive or "here" as in this motel room, but he got the feeling that it was some combination of both, and he had to say, he definitely agreed.

"Dean," Cas suddenly said, "do you want to speak about your father?"

"Hell no," Dean said quickly, almost before he actually understood what Cas had even asked. It was more like a knee-jerk reaction than anything else, but still, that didn't mean that he was going to change his answer.

"It has been three days, and you haven't said a word about the fight that you had with him," Cas protested. "I know that it had to have hurt you-"

"It didn't," Dean said sharply. That was definitely a lie, and it was obvious that Cas knew it, too, judging by the way that he narrowed his eyes at Dean.

"After everything that you've done for him, it's understandable-"

"No," Dean snapped, and pushed himself up off the bed. Screw cuddling, he needed to pace. But he only made it about two steps before he spun back around to glare at his boyfriend. "Seriously, Cas, we're not going there."

From the bathroom, he heard the water shut off. Dammit, that meant that they only had another minute or two before Sam came back out here and joined them, and then it'd be two against one, with neither of them willing to let him get away with not talking about it, and wasn't that just going to be great?

Cas was standing now, too, and taking a step toward Dean. "Tell me how you feel, and I will stop bothering you," he promised. "One sentence – one _honest_ sentence – and I won't say another word."

Dean scowled, and his first instinct was to argue just for the sake of arguing, because there was no way in hell that he was going to give in. Except, well, it was a pretty good deal. And at least then, he wouldn't have to worry about Cas and Sam trying some sort of tag team therapy on him. So that was a plus, at least.

He took a deep breath. "Fine," he snapped. "It hurts, okay? That good enough for you?"

Cas was frowning, and Dean could see the sadness practically oozing from every pore of his face, but he did nod, at least. "That was the agreement," he said, "though I wish that you had told me more."

"Never said it had to be a good sentence," Dean pointed out, and again, Cas just nodded. It looked like he really wasn't going to push the issue, like Dean could get away without saying anything more.

Maybe that was the reason why he kept talking.

"It really fucking hurts that he'd be willing to just walk away, even after how many times he's kicked us out," he said slowly, barely aware of what words were going to come out of his mouth until after he was already saying them. "And I hate that I was the one to kick him out."

Dean paused, but Cas didn't say anything more, just watched him.

And finally, Dean said in a much lower voice, "And I feel like the shittiest son in the world because I'm glad that I picked you. And because I'm starting to think that I'd do it again, if I had to."

For an instant, Cas just stared.

Then suddenly he moved, so fast that Dean almost didn't see him approach until he already had his hands on either side of Dean's face, and kissed him hard enough to almost hurt. Not that Dean was complaining. See, kissing was good. He liked the kissing. It reminded him of exactly why he had made this choice in the first place, and forced the guilt into the very back of his mind, where he almost didn't notice it was there.

After a few minutes – or longer, who knew? – Cas stepped back. He didn't take his hands off Dean, though he did move them from Dean's face to his shoulders, looking him very seriously in the eyes. "I would not have asked you to do this for me," he said slowly. "I would never have asked you to choose me over your father."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well," he said, running one hand through his hair awkwardly. "Not the whole reason it happened, I guess."

It'd been brewing in the back of his mind for a while. He didn't know how long. Those dark thoughts that he did his best to shove away and not even acknowledge. Stuff about wanting to know why the fuck Dad couldn't just give them a call, or leave a note, or do pretty much anything besides just drop them some coordinates and send them on a hunt while he did the important stuff. And even before that, too. He remembered curling up in bed the night after he'd sold his soul – Sam had wanted to know what was wrong, and Dean'd had to snap that he was fine, and yell until Sam finally given up and gone off to watch TV, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts. Dad was supposed to have returned that night, and Dean had stayed up long past when Sam had drifted off, cheek pressed against the arm of the couch, TV still blaring some action movie. Any minute, Dean figured, Dad would make it home. And then maybe, just maybe, Dean might actually tell him what he'd done.

Dad didn't get back until three days later. By then, Dean had already resigned himself to keeping this a secret.

He hadn't thought about that in a long time.

So maybe this had been a long time coming. Or maybe he'd just exploded all at once. He didn't know, and hell, it wasn't like he was going to think about it enough to figure it out. It'd happened. Details didn't matter.

"I know that," Cas said, nodding slowly. "And as I told you before, I am very happy that you made the choice to tell him these things."

Dean frowned at that. Okay, that was exactly what he'd expected Cas to say – Dad and Cas hadn't gotten along from the beginning, and Cas had had that idea that Dean needed to stick up for himself. Of course he was going to like that this had happened. Still, though, that idea just seemed wrong to Dean. Being concerned, he could understand, even if he fucking hated to feel like he was being looked at like he was some baby with hurt feelings. Hell, he could even get the fact that Sam and Cas thought that this was the right thing to do. Being happy that it happened, though? That was taking it one step too far.

Then again, he couldn't say for sure that some tiny part of him didn't feel the same.

"Okay, we're done talking about this," Dean announced, and went over and banged his fist against the bathroom door. It'd been a while since he'd heard the water turn off. Meaning that there had to be a reason why Sam wasn't coming out, and Dean was pretty sure he knew what it was. "Okay, okay, the moment's over, Sam," he called, hitting the door again. "Cas and I are done with the emotional shit, it's safe for you to join us."

He was half surprised that Sam had decided to give them privacy to finish their conversation – he would've thought that Sam'd be clamoring to join in on the feels fest. Then again, he'd probably been eavesdropping through the door this whole time, so maybe it wasn't so nice, after all.

He waited a few seconds, but Sam didn't respond, and he didn't come out.

Dean frowned. Okay, that was weird. "Sammy?" he called, and slammed his hand on the door again, as hard as he could. Cas joined him, standing beside Dean and sending worried looks between him and the door. Dean didn't even glance over at him, just leaned forward and called, "I'm giving you ten seconds to respond to me before I break down the door. So seriously, if there's anything that you don't want to see, then you'd better either talk to me or cover it up now."

He counted out the full ten seconds, though he might have sped up a bit toward the end, just to get it over with as quickly as possible. Sam still didn't say a word.

It only took three tries to break down the door.

Inside, everything looked like it was in place, for the most part. Sam's towel was hanging on the hook on the far wall. His dirty clothes were piled on the floor, and the clean ones he'd planned on changing into were nowhere to be seen. Sam's toothbrush was lying on the counter, unused, next to his cell phone. His hex bag – the one that was supposed to keep the demons from ever being able to reach them – was still on the counter beside the two. One shoe was lying sideways on the floor, with no sign of where the other one had gone. There weren't any windows to climb into or out of. No signs of a struggle.

But Sammy was gone.


	40. Part 3 Chapter 1

**PART 3**

**CHAPTER 1**

He hadn't seen what happened. One moment, Sam had been in the bathroom of their motel, just finishing tying one shoe and reaching to grab the other. It seemed like only a second passed, but suddenly he was lying facedown on a dirty floor in who-knows-where.

He pushed himself up slowly, quickly running through a mental inventory. He didn't feel hurt. All of his weapons were still tucked into his jacket pocket, including an iron dagger, and the gun filled with salt rounds that he'd taken to carrying with him everywhere ever since the day that the hellhounds had come for Dean.

His brother. Dean. Shit.

He quickly sat up the rest of the way, but there wasn't any sign of Dean anywhere – or of Cas, for that matter. Sam was in an empty storeroom somewhere. It was dark; the only light in the whole room was what had come through the streaked and dirty windows, just barely enough for Sam to see what was in front of him.

"Dean?" he called, standing and turning a slow circle around the room, scanning all of the corners for any sign that anyone was around. "Cas?" Nothing moved. As far as he could tell, he was completely alone.

That was when he heard the screams.

Instantly the gun was in his hands, and he ran for the door, grabbing the handle to yank it open. It didn't budge. He tried again, yanking on it as hard as he could, then stepped back and threw himself forward, slamming his shoulder against the door as hard as he could. Still, the door didn't move.

The window, then. Sam scrambled over to it, double checking that the safety was on before slamming the butt of the gun straight into the glass.

It should have shattered the window completely, or at least cracked it a little. Nothing happened. The glass wasn't even scratched.

There was a boy right outside the room. He was backed against the wall, right next to the window, separated from Sam by only the thin walls, but still, Sam couldn't get to him.

And there was a demon right in front of the boy. An Acheri demon, the kind that took the form of little children. Its hands were bared into claws, its face transformed into something deeply unnatural. And it was getting closer.

"No!" Sam screamed, and slammed the window with his gun again, and again, and again. It didn't do any good.

"No!" Sam repeated. Screaming also didn't help.

He was so close, but he couldn't break himself free, or find any way of busting out of the room.

There was nothing he could do except watch as the demon plunged its hand into the center of the boys chest. The boy screamed, then his voice cut off, and his body fell to the ground. And Sam knew that it was pointless, that it was already too late, but still, he couldn't stop himself from attacking the window, still trying to convince himself that he could break out, he could kill the demon, he could do something.

"Now really," a voice suddenly said from behind him, "there isn't any reason for that."

Sam spun around, gun out, the safety instantly clicked off.

There was a man there, one that Sam had never seen before. He raised his eyebrows, arms crossed over his chest. "Or for that, either," he said, distaste evident in his voice. "Really, Sam, I thought you were smarter than this. You can't hurt me with that."

It was dark enough in this storage room that it was hard to tell for sure, at least at first. Then the man tilted his head, and suddenly, Sam caught sight of his eyes. They were yellow.

Azazel.

"I can try," Sam said, practically snarling the words.

"Yes, but it's not going to work," Azazel said simply.

Sam pulled the trigger. Azazel just smiled.

The round vanished an instant before it would have struck him in the center of the chest.

"Nice shot," Azazel said, smiling at Sam, even looking like he was a little bit impressed. The thought made Sam nauseous. "But really, you should know better than to try that here."

"What do you mean?" Sam demanded.

Azazel's smile widened, and he took a step forward. "This isn't real, Sam," he said slowly. "Right now we're exploring that big ol' noggin of yours. Well, some of it is real," he amended after a moment, and shrugged. "But you're still watching it from inside your own head. The spell worked differently on everyone. Now, you're one of the last of my children who still needs to wake up."

Sam's hands tightened around his gun. "Wake up from what?"

"Now, there's no need to look so worried," Azazel said, holding up his hands in what was obviously meant to be a placating gesture. "You're not going to get hurt. Not right now, at least. I'll keep you safe until you're awake. After all, it wouldn't be very sportsmanlike to let someone tear you to shreds while you're still unconscious, now would it?"

Sam could feel his fingers practically twitching against the trigger, just aching to pull it again, even though he knew it wouldn't do any good. Instead, he sucked in a breath, then narrowed his eyes. "Where are we?" he demanded. "Besides in my head, I mean? And why?"

He wasn't expecting an answer, and sure enough, Azazel just shook his head. "Where we are – well, that's for you to figure out." But then he paused, and gradually, a smile began to form on his lips. "As for why… Well, that, I can tell you."

He paused then, making Sam crazy with impatience, unable to tear his eyes off of Azazel, not even to turn around when he heard another scream from beyond the window. It was obvious that Azazel was enjoying this, savoring the anticipation, and all it did was make Sam want to hurt the bastard even more, but he forced himself to stay still, to not move. Rushing in would just be doing what the demon wanted. He had to keep calm, focus, and find a way to kill Azazel – one that the demon would never see coming.

Finally, Azazel seemed to decide that the wait had been enough, because his smile widened into a full out grin, and he said, "It's a test, Sammy. It's always been a test. And I've finally been able to bring you into it, just like I wanted. You really threw off all my centuries of planning when I couldn't find you last week, you know. Just like your angel pal messed us up when he took the Colt and ran, when we'd been counting on your dear old dad giving it to us. But we finally found a way around that." He paused, and patted the front of his jacket. Now that he was looking, Sam could just barely see the recognizable bulge of a gun hidden beneath his jacket. "Granted, we did decide to speed up the time frame, which I'm not too happy about. But then, now that we've got everything that we need, why wait, right?"

"A test of what?" Sam demanded. "Why?"

Azazel just kept smiling, and this time, it was obvious that he wasn't going to say a word.

Sam switched questions quickly. "How did you bring me here?"

This one, Sam could tell that Azazel had been waiting for. It was like this look of complete delight suddenly spread across his face, as though he'd been waiting for this question all along. "Now that one's an interesting answer," he said, and reached into his jacket.

Sam had expected the Colt, and braced himself to dive to the ground at the first sign of a gunshot, even though the Colt wouldn't be as powerful without the last bullet, still locked in the safe that they'd demon-proofed back when Dean had first been kidnapped. Instead, Azazel drew a blade with one smooth motion. That wasn't any more reassuring.

Sam stiffened, ready to jump back the moment that Azazel came at him with the knife – it didn't matter what the demon had said, Sam still wasn't going to trust Azazel not to hurt him. Azazel just shook his head, looking almost amused at Sam's reaction. Then, before Sam even had the chance to react, Azazel brought the blade down and cut a line across the palm of his own hand.

"Blood," Azazel said, his eyes not leaving Sam as he slowly tilted his hand to let a few drops spill into the dirt. "You know how summoning spells work, don't you, Sam? Now, I normally prefer to just send demons to do the work – having them kill the bystanders really makes the right impression, don't you think? But you didn't exactly leave me any other choices. That spell of yours might be able to keep me from finding you, but it didn't do anything against a summoning. All I needed was a part of you – a piece of clothing, some hair, a bit of you blood."

He tilted his hand a little more, and another drop fell. Sam's eyes followed it down, like he was mesmerized and couldn't look away.

"Of course," Azazel said slowly, his voice barely more than a whisper now, "I already had some of your blood, didn't I? Or, I suppose you could say that you have some of mine. Either way, it worked to summon my children just as well."

Sam couldn't help it – he shuddered. Normally he was able to ignore the fact that he had demon blood. Or, at least, he could shove it to the back of his mind, try to pretend that it wasn't constantly in his thoughts. Now, he swore that he could almost feel it swimming through his veins, tainting him from the inside out.

"You don't look surprised," Azazel said, taking a step forward and studying Sam curiously. Again, Sam shuddered, but he didn't let himself step back. No way was he going to let the demon see that he'd gotten to him.

Azazel just kept approaching, still watching Sam through narrowed eyes. "You already knew, didn't you? I should have guessed. You always manage to surprise me, Sammy. You and your brother."

Azazel was only a few feet away. Sam could feel his skin crawling, every nerve in his body practically begging him to move back, but he held his ground.

Azazel's jacket shook when he moved, and Sam could still see the outline where the Colt was held. If Azazel just came a little closer- If Sam could just be fast enough-

It wouldn't work properly, not without the final bullet, but it would be a start.

"It doesn't matter, though," Azazel said, and stopped walking. "You don't get special treatment just because you're doing the best so far. I'm going to tell you the same thing I told everyone else."

"And what's that?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice level, still watching Azazel. He was close enough now, his jacket hanging slightly open. Sam could practically see the butt of the Colt, just barely sticking out from behind the zipper of his jacket. If he just waited until Azazel was distracted enough-

Azazel grinned. Whatever he was going to say next, he was definitely excited about it. This could be Sam's chance.

"Survive," Azazel said simply. "Be the strongest. Because let me tell you, only one of you is going to walk out of here, and it could be you, Sam. All you have to do is make sure that everyone else dies first."

Sam heard the words, but didn't let his mind process them, not yet. He couldn't allow himself the distraction.

Instead, he lunged at Azazel, hand outstretched to rip the Colt from Azazel's pocket, ready to run the moment that it was in his hand, even if he knew that there was nowhere to go.

Azazel stayed still just long enough for Sam to see him shake his head.

Then Azazel was gone, and Sam was once again lying facedown on the dirt, slowly pushing himself up and blinking to try to clear his thoughts. His eyes felt heavy – no, more than that, his whole body felt like it was made of lead, like he'd been drugged and hadn't quite shaken the effects yet. Still, he pushed himself to his feet as fast as he could, staggering slightly before he regained his balance, spinning around to make sure that he was truly alone.

The room was completely empty except for him. Azazel was definitely gone.

Sam took a deep breath, and checked that all of his weapons were actually still where he'd left them. They were, exactly the way that he they'd been in the vision. Almost everything seemed to be the same, except his shoulder no longer ached from when he'd slammed it against the door, trying to break out in time to save the boy on the other side.

The boy. The moment that that thought occurred to him, Sam was rushing to the door, bracing himself for another attempt at break it down. This time, it opened on the first try, and he stumbled out into the street.

He was hoping that maybe Azazel had been wrong, or lying, or something. That the demon attack had just been in his head, or that it'd been another vision, and hadn't actually happened yet. But it only took a single second to realize that that wasn't the case. As soon as he was outside, the first thing he saw was the boy's corpse lying discarded on the ground, a scream still frozen on his face. There were two more bodies, a boy and a girl, both of them lying beside the first.

There was a noise behind him, like cloth rustling in the wind.

That was all the warning that he got before the Acheri demon attacked.

It was just enough warning for him to spin around and stumble back. The road was coated with blood, making it slick underfoot. Sam could feel it sliding under his shoe, and soaking into his sock on his shoeless foot. The demon was only a few feet away, baring its teeth, a sickening smile on its face. It watched him for one second, and then it pounced.

Sam raised the gun, barely managing to get it up between him and the demon before it was on top of him, and he pulled the trigger just as he felt the first brush of the demon's claws against his face.

The salt round exploded, and the demon screamed, disappearing into a cloud of smoke that made Sam double over, coughing like he was trying to hack up a lung. There was a reason why you tried not to get close to a demon like that. Or at least why you didn't want to breathe in while you were killing it.

He heard another noise from around the corner of the building, almost like footsteps. Instantly he spun around, gun raised, ready for another attack. It didn't come. Instead, there was a pause while he waited, and then a voice asked, "Is it gone?"

"Who's there?" he asked, then added, "Come on out." He lowered his gun, figuring that having a barrel shoved in their faces wasn't exactly going to make them feel more comfortable approaching him, though he kept his hands tight around it, ready to lift it and shoot at the first sign of danger.

The girl who'd spoken didn't seem like she was going to be dangerous, though. She slowly peeked her head around the corner of the building, eyes widening as she stared at Sam's gun. Her face was pale, her entire body shaking, but she slowly moved forward, approaching Sam with cautious steps. "What was that thing?" she asked, and it was hard to tell which trembled harder, her hands or her voice.

Sam frowned at the area where the Acheri had been just a moment before. "It was a demon," he said grimly.

"A demon?" the girl repeated incredulously, then immediately shook her head. "No. No way, that's not possible, that's-"

"You have a better idea of what's happening?" a different voice demanded, and this time, it was a boy who stepped around the corner, followed by another two girls, who were clinging to each other like they didn't know what else to do. The boy's eyes immediately went to the body on the ground, and he swallowed, then looked away. "We need to explain it somehow, don't we?" he added, his voice harsher this time.

"Yeah," the girl said, then shrugged and shook her head again. "But still..." she said, and let her voice trail off without saying anything more.

Sam turned his attention to the boy. He was dressed in army camouflage, and carrying a shotgun in both hands, looking like he knew how to use it. Sam nodded toward it. "Where'd you get that?"

"Found it in one of the houses," he said, holding it up like he was giving Sam a better look. "Plenty of bullets, too. Whoever brought us here, it looks like they wanted us to defend ourselves."

"Or kill each other," the first girl snapped. She was eyeing Sam's gun, terror practically engraved into her features, but there was something else there, something almost calculating, like she was trying to figure out how to get her hands on it. Sam narrowed his eyes at her, and tightened his grip on the gun. She looked away.

The boy pressed his lips together, but he nodded. "Or that," he said. "Doesn't mean that we gotta listen."

Sam nodded back. "I'm Sam Winchester," he said.

"Jake Talley," the boy responded, then glanced around the road. As far as Sam could tell, there weren't any other demons around – not here, anyway. Even so, Jake hefted his gun in his hands, and said, "Come on, we can save the rest of the introductions until we get somewhere safer. We've got a place."

Sam nodded again, and Jake led the way, Sam falling into step beside him, the other three huddling behind them, following directly at their heels. "How long have you been here?" he asked.

Jake shrugged, though he didn't look over at Sam – he was too busy scanning the area, keeping a watch out for demons. Sam was doing the exact same thing. "Don't think it's been an hour," he said. "There wasn't anyone really around when I woke up, but people keep stumbling out all of the time. A couple others and found a place with supplies, made a shelter. It's just a couple streets away."

It was just like Azazel had said, then, with Sam being one of the last to wake up. "What were you doing out here, if you've got a shelter?"

Again, Jake shrugged. "Looking for more people," he said. "Trying to figure out what the hell those creepy bastards are so that I can figure out how to kill them."

"You can't," Sam said. "Not with normal weapons, at least. But you can scare them off, and that should be good enough for now. You just need to hit them with iron, or salt. Both of them will hurt a demon bad enough that it can't stick around."

Jake still didn't turn to look at Sam directly, though Sam could see his eyes narrow, and the way he was glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "You know an awful lot about these things."

"Not the first time I've dealt with them," Sam said, and figured that that would be enough of an explanation. No time to get into the details now.

Jake still looked suspicious, though he didn't say anything more about it. Instead, he just nodded, then asked, "What else do you know?"

Sam frowned, running through the numbers in his head. "There were a hundred of us starting out," he said slowly, more talking to himself than to the others. "Azazel had already kidnapped half of them, but I don't know what happened to them – if they're still alive, or if they were even taken to this place in the first place." Though to be honest, he didn't think that there was a whole lot of hope for any of those who had already gone missing, not if they had been taken anywhere even close to this. Still, he wasn't going to count them as dead until he knew for sure.

Even so, he didn't think that most of them would be around here. If the only people around were those that Azazel had kidnapped with the spell just now, then that'd be a little less than fifty. Add in the people that Gordon had killed, and... "There would've been about forty of us starting out, minus however many are already dead." And Sam couldn't even imagine how big the number could be. Less than five minutes, and already he'd seen three bodies lying crumpled on the ground. If it had been happening for an hour already-

He didn't even want to think about it.

They turned a corner, and then avoiding the thoughts wasn't exactly a possibility. There were bodies lining the streets, at least four of them that Sam could see, and who knew how many more. Behind him, he could practically feel one of the girls shuddering, and another one gave a broken sob.

Jake kept his eyes locked straight ahead. "Attack," he said gruffly. "Big one. Come on, our shelter's right up here."

He led the way up to one of the bigger buildings. It still wasn't too large, but it probably had two stories, and it was in better shape than some of the other buildings around it. A lot of the places here looked like they were rotting away, or being eaten to pieces by the termites. This one looked like it was still in relatively good shape, at least. If Sam had had to pick one of these places to ride out a demon attack, this one definitely would have been high on his list.

Jake knocked on the door – three times hard, then a soft one, obviously some sort of code. Sam just had enough time to be impressed, and then the door slid open, just a crack. "Girls first," Jake said, and Sam nodded, stepping back to let them inside ahead of him. As soon as they were in, he gestured to Jake, trying to tell him to lead the way. Jake barely nodded, turning to step inside the door.

Then he spun, and in an instant, the barrel of the gun was pressed against Sam's chest.

"Don't even think about trying anything," Jake said, voice flat and eyes narrowed. "I saw you shoot that monster. You've only got salt in yours, and I've got real bullets. Mine are going to win."

"Okay," Sam said slowly, and gradually began lifting his hands over his head. "Listen, I don't want any trouble, alright?"

Jake shook his head sharply. "It's not my first time doing this, you know," he said. "Put the gun on the ground, right now."

"Okay, okay, I'm doing it," Sam said, and bent at the knee, lowering his hands until he could carefully set his gun beside his foot.

For all that Jake had said that this wasn't his first time doing this, he'd made one huge rookie mistake. He hadn't counted on the fact that this wasn't Sam's first time doing something like this, either. It was a move he'd practiced since he was a kid – hell, he was pretty sure that Dean had taught him how to dodge a bullet years before Dad had taught him to actually shoot one. When he'd been a kid, he'd drop to the ground, or attack the person's legs, or do a million other things that would lead to a barrel not pointing at his body any longer. As he'd gotten older, his strategy had changed.

By now, it was a move he'd made a hundred times. He straightened slowly, hands still raised, doing everything that he could to make it look like he wasn't about to start trouble. Then he lunged, closing his hands around the gun and yanking hard, ripping it out of Jake's hands.

Or, it should have ripped the gun away from Jake. Every other time that Sam had tried it, it had always worked. Now, though, the gun didn't even budge.

"That's not going to work," Jake said simply, then jerked the gun, hard enough to rip it from Sam's grip and send him stumbling back, barely regaining his balance before he tumbled backwards down the steps. Jake just took a step forward, moving to once again press the center of the barrel against the center of Sam's chest. "Now," he said, eyes narrowed, "you want to explain to me why you know so much stuff? Because it seems awfully suspicious, don't you think, that someone just happens to know the name of whoever had killed us, and everything that's going on, including how to kill them? Seems just a little too good to be real, don't you think?"

Sam shook his head. "If I was on the demons' side, trust me, I would've been a lot more subtle."

"Yeah?" Jake said, moving the gun slightly, arranging it so that it was positioned directly above Sam's heart.

Sam nodded, and forced himself to keep calm, not allow any reaction to show on his face. "You've seen what's been happening," he said, and spread his arms in a wide gesture meant to encapsulate the bodies on the street, the demons that had killed them, everything. "If you want to try to survive this, then you're going to need help."

"Yeah?" Jake asked, voice still calm and flat, with no hint of emotion peeking through. "And why should I trust you?"

"Because you don't have a choice," Sam said, his own voice copying Jake's. "Because at this rate, we're all going to die, and you're going to need me if you're going to stop it."

Sam watched Jake's face carefully, seeing the sour look grow on his features as he thought that over and realized that Sam was probably right.

"And if you're against us?" Jake demanded. "It's not going to be a whole lot of help if you get us killed."

"I can tell you that I'm not," Sam said slowly. "It's not going to make you believe me, I know that. But like I said, it's not as though you've got a whole lot of options."

Jake narrowed his eyes, glared at Sam for one last moment. Then he swore under his breath and lowered the gun. "Fine," he snapped. "Come on." He turned on his heels and shoved open the door, holding it just long enough for Sam to grab his gun off the ground and follow after.

"Careful," Jake grunted, and gestured down to the ground. Sam glanced at the floor, just in time to avoid accidentally stepping on the line of salt that had been stretched across the hallway, just far enough back that they could open the door without disturbing it. Sam stepped over it and gingerly followed Jake down the hall, still completely aware of the way that Jake was watching him like he was just looking for an excuse to point his gun at Sam again and actually pull the trigger this time.

"How'd you know to do that?" Sam asked, making a vague gesture down toward the salt lines. "I thought that you didn't know about demons?"

"I don't," Jake said shortly. "Someone else did."

They stepped into the living room then. It was surrounded by salt lines, too, ones much thicker than those placed in front of the doors, and there was a devil's trap drawn just outside the door, where it would be impossible for a demon to get through without going through it. The room was packed with people, slightly less than a dozen of them sitting around, clutching salt or shotguns or knives. Some of them had their eyes closed, their arms wrapped around themselves. Some of them watched his every move as he and Jake entered the room, looking like they would be willing to kill him even without a reason to.

Sam glanced back at the devil's trap again. "Who-?" he began.

That's when he heard it.

"Sam Winchester?" a voice asked, before he got the chance to finish his question. He recognized it immediately, and then he realized that he didn't need to ask. He'd just figured out the answer.

He turned toward the back wall, where the voice had been coming from. "Lily," he said. "Can't say that I'm happy to see you here."

"Same for you," she said, and shook her head. "Guess the demons got me after all, huh?"

Sam stepped toward her, glancing around the room again. "You set this up?"

She shrugged. "Needed someplace to go," she said. "This place had salt. And ink." She wrapped her arms around herself, and when she did, it pulled on her sleeve slightly, revealing another piece of ink – a black anti-possession tattoo drawn along the back of her wrist. "I've gotten better at drawing them. You know, just in case I lost the metal you gave me." He could see that she was still wearing that one, too, tucked under her shirt where just the top of the charm was visible.

"You two know each other?" Jake asked, eyes narrowing as he looked between Lily and Sam.

Lily nodded. "He's the one who taught me about this stuff," she said, then glanced back at Sam as she added, "We'd be dead if it wasn't for what you taught me."

Jake grunted, and didn't exactly look happy about it, but he did finally lower his gun completely. He was still holding it, but at least it wasn't pointed anywhere near Sam anymore, so he considered that to be an improvement.

"How many people do you have?" Sam asked, glancing around the room.

Lily shrugged. "Maybe eight or nine, besides us," she said. "We never really counted, honestly."

"Okay," Sam said, adding up the math in his head. Eight people here. Seven bodies outside, more or less – there was no way he was going to go count them, not when he didn't even want to picture them in his head. They'd died while he was still unconscious, knocked out by whatever spell Azazel had used to bring them here. It wasn't like there was anything he could have done to change that. Realistically speaking, he knew that, but that didn't mean that it was any easier to think about. Not when he could still see the corpses seared into his mind.

He shook that thought away and forced himself to focus. Even when you factored in the unknown number of Gordon's kills, that still left almost twenty people unaccounted for, maybe more. They could still be out there, hiding somewhere, which meant that the first thing that he had to do was find them.

Or they could be dead, but he didn't plan on dwelling on that possibility. Not until he had to.

"We need a plan," Jake said. "Something that we can do next."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. They needed a lot of plans – a plan for how to find everyone, a plan for how to keep the demons. How to escape, and where they'd go when they got out. How to track down Azazel and kill him before he could finish killing them. Trying to get a message to Dean and Cas, if he could.

There was no shortage of things that they needed to figure out, too many to focus on at once.

"Let's start with finding as many people as we can and bringing them back here," he said. The living room didn't have a window, so he couldn't see outside, but he could only imagine what kind of chaos was happening outside these doors. It wasn't like this place was completely safe – he didn't think that any place would be. Still, it'd be better than anywhere else, and the more people that they could protect, the better. "I'm going to head out," he said, checking the rounds in his gun, and nodding. He had enough. Hopefully. "Gather all of the survivors that I can. We'll work out the rest when I get back."

He didn't expect any arguments. Or, maybe they wouldn't like the fact that he was telling them what to do, ordering to hold off the planning until he was ready, but he didn't think they'd have a problem with the fact that he was going. And he was right. Neither of them looked bothered by it.

What he didn't expect was for Jake to nod, and heft his gun higher in his hands again. "Okay," he said. "I'm going with you."

"Me, too," Lily said. She wasn't holding a weapon, but her arms tightened around herself in a way that looked defiant instead of defensive this time.

Sam immediately shook his head. "It's dangerous," he said.

For a moment, Lily wavered, and Sam almost thought that that reminder would be enough to make her change her mind. Then she took a breath, and squared her shoulders. "I know," she said. "That's why you can't go alone."

Sam was just opening his mouth to protest again when someone behind him cleared their throat, and a small voice said, "I'm going to come, too."

Sam turned around, and blinked. "Ava?"

She gave him a small smile, one that was just as obviously forced as the one that he'd given Lily just a minute earlier. "Hi, Sam."

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "You saw what happened last time you got involved with something like this. And trust me, if those demons get their hands on you, you're going to be dealing with something much worse than a bullet wound."

If he'd been hoping that the mental image of Cas bleeding on the motel bed would be enough to change her mind, he was wrong. Instead, it just made her nod and square her shoulders. "I know," she said. "And I'll be honest, I was _completely_ freaked out. But…" She stopped, sucked in a long breath. "All I want is to go home and to curl up on the couch with my fiancé and watch stupid TV marathons, and that's not going to happen unless we figure out a way to stop this… this demon, or whatever the hell. So I'm in."

Sam was going to protest more. Jake spoke before he could.

"Okay," Jake said, glancing around at the other three, then nodding once toward the group of them. "In that case, it looked like we've got a team."


	41. Part 3 Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Dean was pacing back and forth when Cas returned to the motel room. He paused for a moment in the doorway, and as he watched, Dean snapped "Shit", practically screaming the curse toward the Heavens, then threw the phone across the room, where it luckily slammed into the pillows of their bed without breaking.

"Ash was not about to find anything?" Cas asked, finally stepping fully into the room and carefully closing the door behind him.

"What do you think?" Dean snapped, and shook his head. "You got it?"

"Yes," Cas said, hurrying over to the table and producing the maps that he had bought from the nearest store. Dean carried plenty of road maps in the glove compartment of the Impala, but all of them were only for a single state, and none of them showed any location outside the United States. And while they both hoped that Sam would be somewhere nearby, they knew that there was no guarantee. A map of the entire world was necessary, which was why Cas had needed to run – quite literally run – to the nearest store that sold what they needed. Dean had stayed behind to make calls, though looking at him now, Cas couldn't help but wonder if it would have been better for Dean to accompany him. At least then, Dean could have felt as though he was doing something productive.

There wasn't time to talk about that now, so instead, Cas drew the large world map from the bag and unrolled it. It was too big to fit on the table – the nearest store had happened to be one which stocked teaching supplies, and as such, the first map that he'd seen had been a large one intended to be hung on classroom walls. So instead, Cas spread it across the floor and drew the matches from his pocket. Part of him cared enough to hope that the flame would not damage the carpet, though if it did, then there was really nothing that they could do about that.

Cas was about to start the chant, when Dean reached over and grabbed his wrist. "Start with the other map," he said.

Cas frowned, but Dean just looked away, not saying anything more or explaining himself in any way, and slowly, Cas nodded. The map of the USA was smaller, and Dean already had it spread across the table, so Cas just had to step over and he was facing it.

He thought that he understood. Dean feared flying – Cas remembered that from the stories that Sam had told the first night that they had gone out drinking together. Of course Dean would be hopeful that Sam would be somewhere within driving distance, not anywhere where they would have to take a plane.

There was more to it, though, Cas was certain. Mainly, the question of what they would do if the map burned completely, and didn't leave a scrap of paper behind. If the map of the US left behind nothing but ash, then at least they would still be able to try another map, hold onto hope that Sam could be hidden away in some other country. If the world map turned to nothing, there would be no other explanation except that Sam was no longer on Earth, and wherever he was – either Heaven or Hell – it would not be good for him.

Cas couldn't fault Dean for not being ready to face that possibility. Cas was not ready for it himself.

Dean wasn't watching him anymore. He'd turned his back on the map, and had his eyes squeezed shut. He used one hand to massage his forehead, hard enough that it looked as though he were trying to tear the skin from his face. Cas frowned, and stepped toward him, laying one hand on Dean's back. "How bad are the hallucinations?" he asked in a low voice.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, then shook his head. From that denial alone, Cas knew that he had been correct, and that they were bad – possibly the worst that he had experienced, if the paleness of his face or the tightness of his stance were anything to go by.

And Dean must have realized that Cas already knew, because the denial that Cas had expected never came. Instead, Dean just bowed his head more. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Do the spell."

Cas hesitated, then nodded and turned away. Nothing would be able to stop the hallucinations so long as Dean was still terrified, and nothing could stop his terror except Sam's safe return. Saving Sam would be the only thing that could help Dean now.

So Cas turned back to the map and lit the match, hurrying through the words of the spell. They came even easier to him now than they had when he had first spoken them, searching for Dean all those months ago. He didn't have to give the words any thought, just allowed them to roll from his lips as simple as breathing. It was only a few seconds, and then he was dropping the match, and stepping back to avoid being caught in the flames as they flared up in front of him.

The flames lasted for at least thirty seconds, perhaps longer. Long enough for Dean to turn around and snap, "What's the hold up?" His voice trailed off when he caught sight of the flames, still stretching two feet above the tabletop, burning far more steadily than they should. "What-?" he began.

Dean barely managed to finish speaking the word, and then the flame died away as quickly as it had flared up initially. In its wake, it left behind the map of the United States, just as pristine as it had been before the spell had begun.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean demanded, spinning around to face Cas, looking like he was only seconds away from grabbing Cas' shoulders and shaking the answers from him.

Cas swallowed. "Interference," he said. "Whoever took Sam, they must have spells in place to prevent us from finding him."

"And who do you think did take him?" Dean demanded. "Azazel? Angels? Hell, another psychopath like Gordon?"

"I don't know," Cas admitted slowly. "Likely an angel or a demon. It takes power to successfully summon a human – much more power than it would take to summon a demon. Most humans couldn't do it – though I suppose a witch could manage it, if they were significantly powerful."

"So we've got nothing," Dean said, and Cas frowned, but was forced to nod. Dean growled, and turned away. "Great. Fucking awesome. How the hell are we supposed to find my brother now?"

Cas bowed his head. He knew that Dean had asked the question rhetorically, and did not expect Cas to respond, but he felt the need to give an answer, regardless. "We will find a way," he promised, quiet enough that he almost wasn't sure if Dean would be able to hear him, despite the fact that they were only a few feet apart. He cleared his throat, and said in a louder voice, "We will bring your brother home, Dean. I can promise you that."

Dean didn't turn toward him, or even move at all. "Oh yeah?" he said. "How?"

This time, Cas could do nothing but hold his silence.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean said, then shook his head. "We're not giving up. We're going to find something, and we're gonna ride in and save Sammy's ass, you got that? We're gonna find something to do."

"Exactly," Cas said. He didn't offer any suggestions as to how, and neither did Dean.

But there had to be something that could be done. There had to be. And whatever it was, they weren't going to rest until they found it.

Cas just hoped that it would be in time.

* * *

><p>Jake and Sam both filled their guns with salt rounds before they left, creating them using the supplies that had been found when they'd first entered this house. There were plenty of other guns, enough that Ava and Lily could take one of their own, but both of them shook their heads when offered. "I don't know how to shoot one," Ava admitted, biting her lip and looking a little embarrassed.<p>

Sam nodded, and pulled his iron knife from his pocket, holding it out to her. "Here," he said, and when she didn't immediately move to take it, he grabbed her hand and curled it around the handle of the knife. It was one of his longer ones, long enough to give her a reasonably good reach, and would hurt well enough if she sunk it into a demon's skin. "Be careful," he warned her. "It won't be able to kill a demon, but some demons are possessing the bodies of innocent people, and you can hurt the victim. Don't aim for a fatal wound – it's not going to do any good. But stabbing them in the arm or shoulder should be enough to force them into retreating, or even make them smoke out if they're weak enough."

Her eyes were wide, and he could definitely tell that she was having second thoughts. He almost expected her to back out completely. Instead, she tightened her grip on the knife, and nodded. "Got it," she said. Her voice was small, but it didn't waver. "Aim for the shoulders. I can do that."

"Unless it's an Acheri demon – one of the ones that look like a demonic child," he amended. "Those, you can aim for wherever you want."

"Aim anywhere. Got it," she said. Her voice was even smaller now, but she still wasn't backing down.

He nodded, and turned toward Lily. He only had one iron knife, and they hadn't found anything else iron in the supplies in the house, so he wasn't sure what to offer her. She came up with a solution on her own for that one.

"Figured this will work well enough," she said, grabbing a fire poker that had been leaning against the wall by the fireplace. "Bash them through with this, and they're not going to be a problem anymore."

"Good idea," Sam agreed, then glanced around at all three of them. This was the last chance for anyone to change their mind, but by now, he was pretty sure that none of them were going to. And he was right – all of them stared right back at him, meeting his eyes without flinching. Sam hesitated for just another moment, giving them a couple last seconds to change their mind. Then finally, he nodded. "Alright," he said. "Let's go."

They fell into formation as soon as they were outside. "I've been around most of the town looking for survivors, I think," Jake said, stepping up to take the lead. "There could still be people I've missed, but we'll have better luck in the places that I haven't been yet, probably."

"Got it," Sam said, slowing his steps to allow the other to walk in front of him. If Jake was going to lead the way, then Sam planned on taking up the rear, making sure that nothing snuck up and grabbed them from behind. Ava and Lily fell into step directly behind Jake, walking side-by-side, watching their left and their right sides as they headed down the streets.

"You okay, Sam?" Ava asked after they'd been walking for a couple minutes. He frowned, and she amended, "You're limping."

"Oh, right," he said, glancing down. He still only had one shoe on, and by now, he'd figured out to compensate for the height difference that his one shoe created, to the point that he barely noticed he was doing it. "I'm fine," he said. Sure, walking like this wasn't the best idea in the world, and it was definitely a giant pain, but he figured it was better than going completely shoeless. This way he had one foot protected, at least.

"You'd better be okay," Jake said. "You're not going to make it long if you're not."

Sam scowled. "I'm fine," he said sharply. Jake just shrugged, and after a moment, Sam sped up, just enough to bring him closer to the group. "What do you mean, I won't survive long?"

"I mean that I've seen plenty of fighting, even before we got here," Jake said simply, and Sam nodded - he'd guessed that much by the army uniform. "And I mean that if you go in with any sort of handicap, then you're probably not going to be coming out. Trust me, man, I've seen what those demon things can do to people. You don't want to be dealing with them when you're at your best, let alone when you're at a disadvantage."

Okay, that much, Sam could definitely understand. He'd gone on enough hunts to know exactly what Jake meant. "Don't worry," he said. "I've fought them before."

"Did you win?" Ava asked.

"I'm still here," Sam said, and Ava nodded, accepting that as answer enough.

Jake, though, shook his head. "You didn't see these things like I did," he said, voice low. "They tore people apart like it was nothing." As if to prove his point, they turned a corner, and suddenly there was a corpse lying at their feet. Sam swallowed and looked away, but not before he'd seen who it was - not anyone that he'd recognized, but a girl with blue hair spiked above her head, and dark skin turned red with blood.

Jake stopped walking. "That girl," he said, gesturing toward her with the gun. "I was there for that one. She never stood a chance."

Ava made a pained sound, and turned away, clutching her knife tighter, holding it almost like it was a security blanket instead of a weapon. Lily shifted her grip on her poker. "Let's just keep going," she said, voice harsh.

Jake nodded, and started up again. The others followed close behind, giving wide berth to the body. Sam tried to ignore the squish of something wet beneath his foot, and very deliberately didn't look down to see what he had stepped in. He knew that it was blood.

"I swear," Jake said, "it's been an hour, probably not much more than that, and I already feel like I've here for an eternity."

"We'll get out of here," Sam promised.

Jake snorted. "Not likely," he said.

"We will," Ava insisted, her voice fierce. "I don't know about you, but I'm leaving here and getting back to Brady. I'm not going to let this place kill me, no matter what it takes."

Jake opened his mouth, then immediately closed it and nodded. "You're right," he said after a long pause. "Like Sam said, we're going to figure out how to kill this demon and get everyone else out of here, then we can all head home."

"Exactly," Ava said, and returned to keeping a lookout toward their left. "Brady's got to be looking for me. I have to find him and tell him that I'm okay."

They kept walking. "More bodies down this way," Jake warned. "There's less once we get out of the center of town."

Sam nodded, and braced himself. Or, he thought that he'd braced himself, or that he'd be able to keep going and ignore them. He'd seen death before, way more often than he wanted to think about. It was sad, but it happened, and it was one of those things that you'd better get used to, or else you weren't going to make it long as a hunter.

Still, when you were stepping over bodies that were sprawled in the road every few feet, it was hard not to let it get to you.

Sam breathed in hard through his teeth – he knew better than to breathe through his nose, and risk never being able to get the smell out of his head. Jake did the same, and kept walking with a single-minded determination. Lily didn't waver either, though Sam could see the slight trembling of her shoulders that said that she was terrified. Ava made a soft whining noise, then coughed hard, reaching up to cover her nose with one hand. "God," she whispered, then nothing else.

"The clock tower is the worst," Jake warned.

He'd been right.

A dozen bodies. That's how many Sam estimated were lying directly outside the clock tower, scattered like broken dolls tossed to the side. Possibly more than that. It was hard to tell, with the way that they were piled on top of each other, and the fact that he didn't want to look at them long enough to figure out for sure. Arms bent at unnatural angles, heads bashed open, people who died clawing at their throats like they were trying to rip themselves free from some unseen force. But mostly, it was holes – in chests, in stomachs, in throats. Even after hunting for years, Sam was certain that he had never seen this much blood at once.

"What happened here?" Lily asked, her voice quiet, subdued.

"I don't know," Jake said, "but we don't want to stick around longer than we have to."

Even so, for a moment they all just stood frozen. Sam was used to these kinds of things, and he was used to forcing himself not to be bothered by them but even he felt like he was too dumbstruck to move.

"Why are we even out here looking for survivors, if there are so many dead here?" Ava asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "There's not that many of us, are there? How could there be anyone else left alive?"

"There could be," Sam said quickly. "We don't know the exact number of us, there could be more of us out there. Even if it's just two or three people, we're still going to find them, and we're going to bring them back safely."

"Yeah," Jake added, speaking up after just a second's too long of a pause. He cleared his throat, and repeated, "Yeah. Yeah, what Sam said. There's gotta be someone else, right?"

"I guess," Ava said. She didn't sound convinced.

"And even if there's not," Jake said after another moment, "we're going to need a lot more weapons if we're going to go demon fighting. And people are going to start getting hungry quick. We should scavenge for supplies while we're at it. Obviously people come first, though." Jake added the last part quickly, as though he were just tacking it on because he had to, not because he really believed it.

Either that, or he didn't really believe that there were going to be people left to find.

They moved fast after that – as fast as they could when they had to be careful to avoid bodies, and when the ground was so slick with blood that they didn't dare run, because they knew that if they did, they'd be likely to slip and fall. There was no way to avoid it all, no matter where they walked.

Finally, though, they were through the clearing that surrounded the bell tower, and back heading down one of the side roads. This one was clear, no bodes whatsoever. Ava breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

The other three kept walking, but Sam hesitated, and turned back. The bell tower was the tallest building, and it was still easy to see it, even from down the street. There was an engraving of some sort of tree along the side of the bell, and he couldn't stop staring at him. He knew it from somewhere, he was sure that he did, but he just couldn't figure out-

"You coming?" Lily asked, and Sam quickly turned around and nodded, quickening his steps to catch back up to the group.

There was something about that bell, though. He was sure that there was. He just needed to figure out what it was.

* * *

><p>They'd only walked for maybe five more minutes before Jake stopped them. "As far as I know, nobody has been down this street," Jake said, gesturing out in front of him, "and there are a ton of buildings where people could be hiding out."<p>

"Let's go, then," Ava urged. She was looking much less eager to be a part of this than she had been when they'd been back at the base, though she hadn't said anything about going back. Although, that could be because she knew that it wasn't an option - there was no way that they could risk anyone being on their own. She was stuck out here with them whether she liked it or not.

They all headed into the closest house. "Split up," Jake said. "It'll go faster. And remember, we're not just here for the people. Grab some bags if you can find them, start loading up on anything useful."

Sam hesitated, then nodded. "The second you even think that you see something, scream," he said. "I don't care if it ends up being a false alarm, that's better than something getting you before you can call for help."

Ava looked uncertain, but Lily nodded almost immediately, and took off into the next room without even glancing back. Sam watched her go, then turned and started up the staircase. This was one of the few buildings with two floors, and he figured that they'd be better off checking the top floor quick, to make sure that nothing was lurking up there, waiting.

The second floor wasn't big. It only took a minute to go through it. He stepped into the last room, and came face-to-face with Jake. "Oh," Sam said, and stepped back away from him. "You're searching up here, too?"

Jake glanced at him, and didn't answer. "Doesn't look to be anything," he said instead. "No weapons, no people, no demons."

Sam nodded. "And no signs of trouble from downstairs, so it sounds like Lily and Ava haven't found anything, either," he agreed, though he figured that they should go downstairs to check, just to be safe. So he started for the staircase, with Jake falling into step behind him.

"You did good, you know," Jake said out of nowhere. "Keeping the others calm, I mean. That's a good idea."

"Thanks," Sam said, then glanced over his shoulder to look at Jake's face for a second. "You don't think that we're going to get out of here." He didn't make it a question.

Jake shrugged. "I think that Ava's right, and I'm going to do absolutely anything that it takes to get back to my family," he said. "But that doesn't mean that I think it's going to actually happen, and I don't think that you do, either."

Sam stopped walking, turning to face Jake.

Jake kept talking. "I can tell you've seen shit," he said. "You've got that look in your eye. That's how I know that you're not nearly as confident as you're trying to convince the others that you are. You know that the odds are against us."

"Doesn't mean I'm going to give up," Sam said. "I've seen people pull through worse." Hell, Dean had had demons on his tail just a little more than a week ago, busting into their motel to drag his soul to Hell. If Dean could manage to get away from the hounds that time, then Sam was going to make it out of this.

"Never said that it did," Jake said, and shrugged again. "Just means that you're smart enough to know how this looks. You don't expect a miracle."

Sam shook his head. "That's where you're wrong," he said. "I've seen miracles before. They can happen. Hell, they've happened to me before. I'm not counting them out."

Jake stared at him for a long time.

"If you actually believe that," he said slowly, not taking his eyes off of Sam's, "then you're more naive than the rest of the group." He shook his head, then nodded toward the staircase. "Let's head back down," he said, then added, "And, you know, you're right about keeping the others calm. That's a good idea, and honestly, I don't care if you're doing it because you really believe or if you're just putting on a front. Either way, it keeps people from panicking, and that's a good thing in my book."

"No sense freaking them out," Sam said. "Not any more than we have to."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, and started walking again.

This time, they made it to the top of the staircase before Jake stopped, and looked at Sam again. "Hey Sam," he said, "what do you think about what the demon – Azazel?" Sam nodded, and Jake continued, "Did Azazel talk to you, back when you were first taken here? Before you woke up?"

"Yeah," Sam said slowly, and hesitated, but finally said, "He told me that only one of us was going to make it out of here. Said that there could only be one survivor."

Jake nodded. "Told me the same thing," he said.

Something about the way that Jake said that was off, and Sam suddenly narrowed his eyes. His gun was still in his hands – no way was Sam going to put it away, not until they were out of here and somewhere safe – but now, he shifted his hand so that one finger was on the trigger. "What are you thinking?" Sam asked. "You believe him."

"Of course I do," Jake said, and Sam stiffened, ready to bring his gun up and shoot at the first sign that Jake was going to make a move. After all, Jake had already gotten him at gunpoint once. Sam didn't intend to let him do it again.

Jake, though, quickly shook his head. "I know that Azazel meant what he said, at least," he amended. "And you might have some crazy plan to kill him, but I don't have a whole lot of faith in that working, no offense." He paused then, and then slowly added, "Doesn't mean that I'm going to give in and do what this demon wants. After watching how many people he's killed, I'd rather die than give the bastard what he wants."

"Okay," Sam said, though he didn't relax his grip, or take his finger from the trigger.

"I take it you're not going to do what Azazel wants, either?" Jake asked.

"No," Sam said, his voice sharp. "I can promise you, that's the one thing I'm never going to do. We're going to find a way to kill him, no matter what it takes."

Jake snorted, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost mocking. "That's right," he said. "You're holding out for a miracle. Good luck with that." He scoffed for another moment, then turned and led the way down the stairs, though Sam did notice that he glanced over his shoulder ever couple seconds, like he didn't quite trust Sam not to shoot him while his back was turned.

Sam hesitated, then moved his finger off the trigger, though he was still ready to shoot in a split second, if he had to. He just hoped that Jake wasn't going to give him a reason to do it.

It did get him thinking, though. About the last miracle that'd come true for them. Or, Sam guessed that there were quite a lot of them, depending on what exactly you classified as "miraculous". But specifically, Sam was thinking about the way that Dean had been lying broken and brain dead in that hospital bed just over two months ago, and the white light that had come down to fix him.

It had been Cas, that time. And things might be different now – Cas didn't have his full powers, for one – but even so, Sam was pretty sure that if they were going to get another miracle, Cas would be the one most likely to deliver it.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said, his lips barely moving, and he definitely didn't say it loud – this wasn't something that he wanted anyone to overhear, and he wasn't going to run that risk, even if Jake was all the way downstairs by now. "Angels can hear prayers, right? I'm sending this one straight to you, then. Think that you and Dean could come help me out?"

He waited a moment, not saying anything more. The words felt awkward on his lips, even though he'd been praying every day for years. He was out of practice now. It'd only been a little more than a week since Cas had warned him that praying could allow the angels to track him down, but Sam had stopped praying before then, back when Dean's deal had come due. Maybe finding out that the hellhounds were after Dean's ass should have made Sam start praying harder, asking God to save his brother or whatever. But honestly, after figuring out that Dean had been forced to do something like that, and that whoever was upstairs was going to let him rot in Hell for the rest of eternity, and watching Dean suffer the hallucinations that looked like they were tearing his mind apart – well, Sam hadn't exactly been feeling very faithful.

Eleven days since he had stopped praying, and already, Sam was feeling like he didn't quite remember how.

Still, though, he made himself keep talking. "You said that if I pray directly to you, then you'll be the only to hear me, right, Cas?" Sam asked, then shrugged. "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter either way. If the angels and demons are teaming up, then they already know where I am, anyway, so this isn't going to hurt anything. But I'm in an abandoned town somewhere. Not sure where, but it hasn't been touched in forever, that much is obvious. Sorry that it's not more to work with."

It was like he was in Dean's hospital room all over again, talking to his brother even when he was convinced that nobody could hear him. This time, though, at least he had reason to think that Cas could he hearing him right now. He hadn't had that last time.

He tried to think if there was anything else that he should say, just on the off chance that he didn't last long enough for Cas and Dean to find him – which, if he was being honest, wasn't looking like it was so unlikely, after all. He swallowed, and finally settled on, "Take care of my brother, okay? Don't let Azazel find him while you're tracking me down. And if anything happens to me-" He shook his head, and decided that he didn't have to finish that request. He didn't even know why he was asking. Cas would make sure that Dean was okay, whether Sam asked him to or not.

Instead, Sam just took a deep breath. "Thanks, Cas," he said. He paused for just one moment longer, waiting for a sign that he knew wasn't going to come, then nodded to himself before heading down to rejoin the others.


	42. Part 3 Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Lily was waiting at the bottom of the steps when Sam came down. "Where's Jake?" Sam asked, glancing around.

"He went to go get Ava, make sure she's okay," Lily said, and shrugged. "I figured I'd wait for you."

Sam nodded and stepped toward her. "Thanks," he said. "That's nice of you."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not doing it to be your friend," she snapped. "I just figured that you're one of the few people who knows how to use your gun, and we'd better not let anything happen to you."

"Right," Sam said quickly. He hesitated for a moment, then took another step toward her, and asked, "How are you doing? I mean, it's not like any of us are that great, but how are you handling all of this?"

She looked him up and down, then scowled. "You should move back from me," she said. "Don't want to touch me by accident."

"None of the other psychics' powers work on me," Sam pointed out. "Don't see any reason why yours would, either."

"You're willing to bet your life on that?" she asked.

Well, okay, that was a pretty good point. Still, though, he stayed where he was, waiting for her to answer his question.

It didn't matter if he moved away from her, after all. A few more seconds passed, and then she was the one to move away from him, holding her poker between the two of them almost like she was trying to hold him off. "Everything about this sucks," she said harshly. "And I'm not going to talk about this any more with you."

Sam nodded, but he didn't plan on that being the end of the conversation. He didn't get the chance to say anything more, though, because right then, Jake and Ava walked back in.

"Definitely nothing – and nobody – here," Jake said, and headed for the door without even glancing toward them. "Let's head on to the next place. We don't want to be out here for any longer than we have to be."

Sam sent one last look in Lily's direction, then nodded. "Okay," he said. "Let's go."

Lily fell into step immediately behind Jake, very pointedly not looking toward Sam as they headed out the door.

Except for one time. Just as they were starting down the street toward the next house, she glanced back at him. It lasted barely a second, and she turned back around before he could read the emotion in her eyes. There had definitely been something there, though. And whatever was happening with her, Sam intended to figure it out.

* * *

><p>"Seriously, Ash," Dean snapped. "I don't even care what you do. Search for a spike in demon activity, look for a sudden burst of angelic white light, get a new spell. Hell, go bust out your Ouija board and ask the spirit of the great beyond to find my brother, it doesn't fucking matter. Just tell me where he is."<p>

"I'm trying," Ash argued. "You think that searching for demon mojo wasn't the first thing I tried? All of my searches are turning up nothing. And anyway, Ellen threw my Ouija board away. Said it was bad mojo, like I was going to get myself into shit."

Dean just growled under his breath. "Then do something else," he said. "Anything else."

"I'll keep working," Ash promised. "Listen, man, you're brother's a nice guy. I mean, he's cool in my book, and that means that I want to get him back just like you do. But all of that wanting doesn't do a damn bit of good if there's nothing left to try."

"Then think of something new," Dean snapped, and hung up the phone before Ash could say another word. Then he closed his head, pressing his hand against his forehead, and trying to resist the urge to throw the phone across the room again. Cas had told him off the last time he'd done it, pointed out that they needed a way for Ash to reach them if he ever did find something, and destroying their best means of contacting him was a terrible idea. And dammit, Dean hated that Cas was right.

"How are you doing?" Cas asked in a low voice, and Dean slowly turned to look at him.

Cas was standing directly behind Dean, one hand raised hesitantly, like he wasn't sure if he should reach forward to touch him or not. Dean sighed, and ran his hand through the hair, until he was sure that he was making it stand on end.

"Dean," Cas urged, after a minute had passed with no answer. "Are you alright?"

He thought about telling Cas that he was fine – running the standard line, keep his boyfriend from worrying. He didn't really see the point in it now, though. Wasn't like Cas would believe him, anyway. So instead, he scowled. "No, I'm not fucking okay," he snapped, "and believe me when I say that I'm not going to be until I get Sammy back here, alive and in one piece."

Instead of looking upset, Cas just nodded, his face unchanged. "Yes, I know that," he said. "But I want to know more specifically than that. How are the hallucinations?"

Dean swallowed. And again, the thought of lying crossed his mind. But to be honest, he was just way too tired to even think about trying to make up a story, and putting in all of the work to make Cas believe it.

"Bad," he said. "Really bad. And don't you dare ask for more details than that, because I swear there is nothing you can do that will make me talk about it more than that."

He was being honest. They were bad, obviously. But if he were going to tell the complete truth, he'd say that "bad" didn't even begin to cover it.

It was like the hallucinations he'd had when Cas had been missing. Or the ones that had come in the instants after Gordon's bullet had gone through Cas' flesh. Or, it had started out like that, anyway. Now, he could feel them evolving into something stronger.

He didn't know what was happening. Maybe the hallucinations got stronger the longer that you avoided death, and after more than a week of running from the hounds, their pull was driving him insane. Maybe it was just Sam being gone, the voices in his head screaming at him that saving his brother was the most important thing in the world. Hell, maybe it was just him finally loosing it. He didn't even care about the explanation, not really. All he knew was that he was miles outside of just feeling "bad".

It was like the hallucinations were writhing inside him, until he didn't feel like he was even real, and maybe he wasn't, who knew? He wasn't seeing monsters anymore, but he didn't have to, because the world was warping around him, like the floor and the light and even the damn air were avoiding him, like he wasn't even a part of the world any more. Everything was darker, covered by a shifting layer of shadows. He didn't think he could breathe anymore And yeah, he knew that that couldn't be true, but fuck if he could convince himself of that, no matter how often he tried to remind himself that it didn't make one fucking bit of sense.

When Cas had been missing, when he'd been the one who could've been dead for all Dean knew, it had honest to god felt like the world was ending, like he might as well be dead for all that he cared about what happened next. This was different. This was more like he was already dead, but he somehow got to keep walking around inside his corpse. He wasn't sure which one was worst, but he did know which one scared him the most.

Cas stared at him for a long time, that look of his plastered on his face, the one that was both confused and concerned at the same time. Then suddenly Cas was stepping forward, grabbing Dean and yanking him against his chest, his arms wrapped around Dean's back way too tight.

The feeling still wasn't right. It was like there was some sort of interference with this, too, like he was touching Cas through a layer of cotton. Or maybe it was more like he was standing back and watching himself hug Cas, instead of actually feeling himself doing it. It didn't matter. And it didn't stop Dean from grabbing onto Cas and clutching him like his life depended on it, burying his face into Cas' shoulder in a way that'd be really embarrassing if he wasn't so desperate.

"We will get him back," Cas promised fiercely, whispering the words into Dean's ear. And the words sounded like they were coming from far away, like Cas was down at the end of a long tunnel instead of right beside him. But it was still Cas' voice, and his words, and Dean was pretty sure that he really frickin' needed to hear that.

He took a deep breath, then reluctantly stepped back – partly because he needed to get back to work, looking for some way to save Sam, and partly because if he held on for any longer it really was going to get pathetic. Cas was still watching him, and Dean wanted to at least do something to try to erase the worry from his eyes, so he pasted on his best fake smile. "Don't tell Sam I was practically bawling on your shoulder like a little girl," he said. "He'd never let me live it down."

Cas raised one hand and pressed it against Dean's cheek.

"I am going to tell Sam," he said. "In fact, that is going to be the first thing that I do once we find him again. He can add it to his list of embarrassing stories to torture you with."

Dean's smile was still not even close to being genuine, but at least it didn't feel quite as fake, just for a moment. "You're a terrible boyfriend, you know."

Cas nodded seriously. "I know," he said. "I am choosing Sam over you. It's terrible, isn't it? But I will enjoy watching Sam 'give you hell' over it." He said the last phrase awkwardly, in typical Cas fashion, and Dean swore that there was a tiny split second where he forgot that Sam wasn't just in the next room, that they didn't actually have a clue when Cas would actually get to tell him any of this.

Then Dean released the breath he was holding, and the moment passed, and all of a sudden he was struck all over again by the fact that Sam was gone. "Let's keep looking," he grunted, moving back and quickly dialed Bobby's number from memory, barely even needing to look at his phone.

"I told you, I'll call the moment that I find something that has even the slightest chance of being useful," Bobby said in lieu of a greeting. "Until then, there's no point in distracting me."

Dean winced, because yeah, he'd known that. Bobby had said the exact same thing last time he'd called. "Sorry," he said.

Bobby's tone softened abruptly, and he said, "I'm doing all I can, boy. Just stay out of my hair for a bit and let me look. Believe me when I say you don't have to keep checking on me to make sure I'm doing what I should."

"Right," Dean said, but still, he couldn't resist adding, "Any idea how long it might take you to get something figured out?"

"What, you think I'm a psychic?" Bobby asked, and Dean could practically hear him shaking his head in annoyance. "I'm going as fast as I can. Be a lot easier if I had my own books. Damn if I didn't choose the wrong week to plan a trip to the west coast."

That was exactly the answer that Dean had expected, but that still didn't stop him from grimacing in disappointment. "Call me the second you got something," he said, even though he'd told Bobby the same thing at least a half dozen times already, and judging by the way that Bobby grumbled, he didn't exactly appreciate yet another reminder.

Dean hung up without saying anything more. It wasn't like talking more was doing any good, other than at least making Dean feel like he was being productive, even if nothing was actually getting done. Still, though, better not to distract Bobby, or it'd only be harder for him to find something useful.

That was when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

It was Cas, but now he was standing frozen, not moving or even blinking – shit, maybe not even breathing. Which wasn't too weird for him, really. Neither was the way that his head was cocked to the side. Or the way that his eyes were wide and distant, like he was seeing something that Dean couldn't. Add all three of them together, and it ended up being kinda on the strange side, even by Cas' standards.

"Cas?" Dean asked, taking a half step toward him. "You okay?"

"Yes," Cas said, his voice barely more than a breath. Abruptly he turned and locked his eyes on Dean, though they were still way too wide, and still looked like he wasn't actually seeing what was in front of him. "Yes!" he repeated, louder this time, and then a grin spread over his face. "It's Sam. I can hear him."

Dean rushed forward, grabbing Cas by the arms. "What do you mean that you can hear him?" he demanded. "How?"

"He's praying," Cas said, still speaking slowly, though now Dean could hear the excitement rising in his voice. "Praying to me specifically. And- it's faint. It's harder to hear him without my grace. But his voice is there. It's definitely him. I remember what his soul looks like, and this soul feels the same."

"Well, what does he want?" Dean demanded, followed immediately by, "And where the hell is he?"

"He wants us to come rescue him. He didn't tell me much more than that," Cas said at once, then frowned slightly. "The second is more difficult. If I had my full grace-"

"You could just zap us there instantly," Dean cut in. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Can you track him down or not?"

Cas hesitated, then nodded. "I can sense his location," he said. "Vaguely," he amended, like he was worried about getting Dean's hopes up. "But I think I can get us to the right general area."

"Good enough," Dean said, already letting go of Cas and rushing to grab the keys. He didn't bother with packing his stuff, though he did pause long enough to grab their duffel bags, so that they could take the stuff that was already packed with them, at least. He even grabbed Sam's one shoe, since the poor guy was probably going to need it once they'd rolled in to rescue him. Everything else could get left behind for all he cared. All that mattered was getting to Sam as soon as possible.

Except for the bullet. No matter how much of a hurry Dean was in, he wasn't stupid enough to leave that one behind. He quickly got the safe opened and slid it into his pocket, the one with the zipper, to make sure that it stayed. Now, they just needed to steal back the Colt so that they could actually put it to use.

There. That was everything that they had to bring. Dean turned and practically ran out the door, headed straight for his baby.

"Are you safe to drive?" Cas asked, as he rushed after Dean, following him outside to the Impala.

That was a good question, actually. "Does it matter?" Dean asked. "You don't know how, and it's not like we can wait around."

"Bobby-" Cas started to suggest.

Dean cut that one off quickly. "Too far away," he said. "We need to get there as soon as possible. There's no time for us to sit around and wait around for him to play taxi."

Cas frowned, but did not argue, though he did place his hand on Dean's shoulder, stopping him from getting into the car. "There will be no point in hurrying to Sam's recue if we get into a accident while trying to reach him. That would delay us worse than anything. Not to mention the fact that you or an innocent person could be harmed. If you do not believe that you can get us there safely, then I am not allowing you into the car. We can send Bobby to rescue Sam on his own. I know that it will take him a long time to arrive, but it would be better than your death."

And dammit if that wasn't a good point, even if every fiber in Dean's being rebelled against the thought of leaving Sam alone out there when he needed help. Still, though, Dean closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, then opened them and nodded. "I'm fine," he said. "Not perfect, but not seeing things that aren't there, either. Not much, anyway. I can tell them apart."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "You're certain?" he asked. "I will trust your judgment, but only if you are absolutely sure."

"I am," Dean said. Cas nodded then, but still looked like he wasn't convinced, so Dean added, "Come on, I'm not about to risk something like that. Especially when you're in the car with me. You might be an angel and all, but I still don't want to see what happens if our car flips at ninety miles and hour. If I thought I couldn't handle it, we wouldn't go."

"I think that you might severely overestimate what you can handle," Cas said, but he nodded again, and then climbed into the passenger seat. "Begin by traveling northwest," he said. "I am not entirely certain of Sam's exact location yet, but I should be able to sense it better once I am closer."

"Sounds good," Dean said, climbing in after Cas and wasting no time pulling out of the parking lot. He waited until he was on the road before he glanced over and asked, "Is he far away?"

"It's hard to tell," Cas said. "I'm not sure what you would consider to be far. But no, I don't think so."

"Good," Dean said. Wasn't exactly the answer that he wanted, but he'd take it. "At least he's alive."

"I told you that he would be," Cas said.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, and didn't want to say that he hadn't known if he could believe it, not really, even if he'd had to keep thinking it for his own sanity. Instead, he just pushed harder on the gas pedal, cursing the traffic that stopped him from going as fast as he wanted, and told himself that he would make it in time, before anything bad had happened to Sam, and that everything would be okay.

* * *

><p>They made it through three houses before Sam said, "This isn't working."<p>

Jake nodded grimly. "It's taking too long," he said, hoisting the bag of what few supplies they'd managed to find higher on his shoulder. "At this rate we'll never make it through, and who knows how long until the demons show up?"

"Well, what else do you want to do?" Lily demanded. "It's not like we can just go running down the streets yelling for the other survivors to come out and meet us. Pretty sure we're going to start attracting demons before we even see a sign of another human."

"Yeah, I know," Jake said. "We're going to have to split up."

"Split up?" Ava asked, her voice shaking slightly. Out of all of them, it was obvious that she was the one who was the most terrified, or at least the worst at hiding it, even if she'd done a better job of putting on a brave face than Sam would've expected from her.

"Two of us take one side of the street, the other two take the other," Jake said. "No more searching the houses thoroughly, either. Just a quick in and out. Grab things if you happen to find them, but don't go looking carefully. And if there's no signs of life, you don't waste your time."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Ava protested.

"So is waiting around out here in the streets," Lily snapped. "Pretty sure we're going to be in danger from now until the moment that we get back to the base. Do we wanna risk splitting up, or do we want to risk staying out here twice as long? Either way, there's still a chance that we're going to be screwed."

For a moment, Ava looked like she wanted to protest. Then she set her shoulders and nodded, looking determined. "Okay," she said. "Then let's just get this done, then."

"You and me?" Jake asked, looking over at Sam. "Leading the groups, I mean," he amended. "Figured that we've both got the guns, so we're better off not going together."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, then glanced over at Lily. "You want to come with me?"

She narrowed her eyes. "No," she said.

Ave frowned, and cleared her throat. "Um, actually," she said slowly, "do you mind if I team up with Jake? No offense to you, Sam," she added quickly, glancing over at him, "It's just, I don't actually know you, and Jake kinda saved me right after I woke up... I don't want to be rude, but I trust him over you, I think. Not that I think you wouldn't be able to fight demons, because I'm sure you can! It's just, I've seen Jake in action, and the last time you fought someone your friend got shot."

Sam frowned, but nodded. "That's okay," he assured her. Ava smiled at him, as genuine a smile as any of them could manage, considering.

Lily looked significantly less happy about it, but she nodded once. "Fine," she said shortly. "Let's go, Sam." She turned and stormed off toward the next house without another word, leaving Sam scrambling to keep up.

They passed through the first few houses quickly, neither one of them saying a word, and not lingering in the buildings for any longer than they had to, though they did at least manage to find some extra salt and ammunition that Sam tucked into a bag he'd picked up in the second house they'd checked.

It was then they were walking through their fourth house that Lily finally spoke. "This is pointless, you know," she said, pushing open the door beside her to check inside. The room was empty. "We can't check every single house in the town, and odds are we're not going to find anyone here. All we're doing is putting ourselves in danger for no reason."

For a minute, Sam didn't say a word. He couldn't exactly argue, considering that he had thought of the exact same thing.

"We have to try, though, don't we?" he finally said. "I mean, maybe we'll save someone, maybe we won't. But it's still worth it to try."

She just shook her head. "That's right," she said, a bite in her voice. "You just love to save anyone, don't you?" She shoved open the back door and cut across to the next house ahead of them.

Sam jogged after her, easily catching up. "I just wanted to talk," he said. "I'm not trying to piss you off-"

"Well, you are," she snapped.

"I'm just saying that I know where you're coming from," Sam said. "Your girlfriend-"

She stopped walking, and spun around. "I never should have told you about her," she said, voice low, almost deadly. "I don't know how you got me to talk about it in the first place, but I never want to hear you mention her again, you got that?"

Her eyes were narrowed, her entire body practically radiating anger, and Sam almost started to believe her. But he still remembered the look on her face when she started talking about her girlfriend, back when they'd thought that Azazel was going to come for her that night, and they'd been alone in the kitchen together. She hadn't said a whole lot – just that this girlfriend had existed, and that Lily had known what her powers were going to do, but that she hadn't been able to move back in time. Sam had asked what had happened next, and Lily had just shrugged and said that she had moved back in with her parents because she'd been too scared of touching people to go outside or hold down a job. She hadn't said another word about her girlfriend, or even mentioned her name.

But there'd been something almost desperate in the way that Lily had talked about her, Sam remembered that much. Which made sense. He wondered how much people knew about her powers, whether her parents even knew how the girlfriend had died, if anyone did.

"Look," Sam said slowly, then grimaced. Even just thinking about this hurt, but he could tell that Lily was in real pain, too, and he had to at least try to do something to help. So he forced himself to continue, "I know what it's like, okay? Azazel- he killed my girlfriend, too. So yes, I know about wanting to get revenge, and how much it hurts." She didn't move at all, or say a word, just narrowed her eyes and glared at him. Sam swallowed, then finished, "I'm just trying to say that I can help you if you want."

For a second, Lily just kept glaring. Then she lifted one hand and slapped him across the face.

"Ow, hey!" Sam protested, more out of instinct than anything else – it hadn't actually hurt.

Lily stepped closer, grabbing Sam's arm and squeezing tight. "I don't care if you've got the same kind of sob story as mine," she snapped. "I don't want to talk about it, alright? I don't even want to talk to you. I'm just doing this to try to get out of here alive, because God knows that if I actually wanted to die I would've done it already. So we're going to watch each other's backs, and we're going to kill Azazel to get our vengeance or whatever the hell you're after, and then I am getting the fuck away from here and never talking to you again. Got it?"

"Got it," Sam said, then glanced down at her hand, still wrapped around his wrist. "I hope that you knew that your touch wasn't actually going to kill me," he said.

Instantly, she dropped his wrist and went back to wrapping her arms tight around herself. "I did," she said shortly, not looking at him. She didn't say anything else, but he waited, and finally she added, "When I first got here, a boy tried to kill me, alright? I started clawing at his face but it didn't do any good. So yeah, I figured out that whatever it is that gives us these powers, it also keeps you safe from me."

Sam nodded. "What happened to the boy?"

He could instantly tell that that was the wrong question to ask. He could practically see Lily shut herself down, her face closing off like a house with the curtains gone. She turned and kept walking, not saying a word. Sam followed her in silence.

But despite all of her words about not wanting to talk to him, he could tell that that wasn't exactly true. If it was, then she wouldn't have taken a deep breath just a couple minutes later, then suddenly tell him, "Dead."

By that point, enough time had passed that Sam didn't immediately understand, and he frowned. "What?"

"The boy who tried to kill me," she said. "He's dead. You want to know how?"

"Do you want to tell me?" Sam asked.

She immediately shook her head, but a second later, the rest of the story came, almost like she couldn't stop herself. "I'd found a knife in the room where I'd first woken up. Taken it with me because it made me feel more secure, it wasn't like I was expecting to actually use it."

"You didn't have a choice," Sam said. "He attacked you first, right? Then it was self defense."

"Yeah," Lily said, but it was obvious that she was just agreeing for the sake of shutting him up. "Here's the thing, though," she said. "I had killed people before, but every one of those times had been on accident. I never thought I'd be able to do it on purpose."

He didn't like the way that she sounded as she said it. Cold, lifeless. Almost emotionless, like she was cutting herself off from whatever it was she was feeling.

"But I guess that's just it, though," she said with a shrug. "We never know what we'll do until we do it. And when things like this happen? Well, who knows what we're going to become?"

* * *

><p>The longer that they searched, the faster that they moved through the houses. Sam wasn't sure if it was because they were growing aware of just how long it would take them to go through every single building thoroughly, or if they were growing discouraged after not finding any signs of a single other survivor, or if it was just that staying out in the open for so long was making them feel more and more exposed as time passed. Maybe it was a combination of the three. Sam had been hunting his whole life, so he was used to looking over his shoulder, but still, even he had to admit that constantly watching his back was starting to get to him.<p>

In all the time that they'd been out here – he'd guess forty-five minutes, more or less – he hadn't seen even the slightest hint of a demon, either. It was almost enough to make him think that they could start to relax. Then he'd think of the corpses scattered in the road, and he'd reconsider.

Whatever the reason, it wasn't long before Lily and Sam were barely walking through a house before moving on to the next one. "Odds that if someone is hiding in one of these houses, they'll hear us walking around and at least come to look," Lily said, almost defensively, like she felt the need to justify it.

Sam could think of a dozen reasons why someone might want to hide out somewhere and not come to investigate strange noises – especially if it was someone who had been attacked by demons in the past hour, and was probably pissing themselves with fear already. He just nodded, though, and didn't say any of that out loud. They didn't have time to host a full-out search. He just had to hope that she was right, and that if someone was nearby, they'd see the signs.

They were on the last house on the street when they found their first person.

She wasn't a survivor, though. It was obvious from the first glance that there was nothing more that could be done for her. They found her head before they found the rest of her body.

"Oh, god," Lily said, gagging, reaching up to put her hand over her mouth like she was going to be sick.

Sam quickly grabbed her and steered her out the door, back into the middle of the road. "Nobody's in that house. No way anyone would hide out there, with a body lying there."

"Yeah, I figured," Lily said, and jerked herself away from Sam. "This is pointless, isn't it? What are the odds that anyone is even still alive, besides us and the group?"

"They could be," Sam insisted. "Even when you take into account the corpses, there's still about ten people that we don't know what happened to."

"Yeah," Lily said, "and I bet you anything that they're all corpses, too." She broke off, shaking her head. "Come on, I know you've got a thing for saving people, but even you've got to see that the odds are against us with this one. We can keep searching for the rest of the day and all night if you want us to, and all we're going to do is keep finding bodies until that's what we end up as ourselves."

She crossed her arms tight, turning her back on Sam completely.

For a moment, Sam didn't know what to say. Then he stepped closer.

"I know," he admitted after a moment. "I've seen what the demons have done, too. And honestly, you're right, it's hard to imagine that anyone could have survived this outside of our group. But maybe somebody did, and maybe we can find a way to keep that person alive. Don't you think that that's reason enough to try?"

She snorted. "I think that you're an idiot who needs a big dose of reality," she said, but her voice was subdued, lacking the bite that it had had a moment before.

Sam chuckled, but without any humor. "Reality," he said, and rubbed his eyes. "That's pretty much the first thing that goes out the window when you start hunting monsters."

"Okay," Lily said after a second's pause. "I guess reality means different things to you than to everyone else. This is pretty par for the course for you, isn't it?"

Again, Sam laughed dryly. "Not really," he said. "And thank god for that. I don't think that we'd make it if-"

Then Jake screamed.

It wasn't a normal scream, like the kind that you'd give if something frightened you. It wasn't even one of those bloodcurdling screams or terror, like the kind that Sam had heard over and over again, on practically every hunting trip he went on, the ones that people gave when they were scared beyond their wildest imaginations. This was the agonizing scream of a pain so strong that it left no room for anything else, not even fear.

It was another kind of scream that he heard on hunting trips sometime. It was the scream people gave when he and Dean weren't in time to save them.

Sam took off running instantly, the rest of his sentence forgotten completely, leaving Lily to scramble after him as best she could.

It was easy to tell which house they were in. It was across the street, a few houses back. The front door was still standing open.

Sam burst in, gun raised and ready to shoot, scanning the room exactly the way that Dean had taught him.

Jake was on the ground, hands clutching at his throat, blood still gushing from between his fingers, pouring out of a wound in his neck. His eyes were wide, face twisted in pain. He wasn't moving. Ava was crouching over him, breathing hard.

Sam could tell in an instant that Jake was dead. If he wasn't, then he would be. This was way beyond anything that Sam could fix up himself, even if he had a way to find the tools that he needed, which they didn't. And the blood- Sam could stitch Jake up now, and it would still be too late. You couldn't lose that much blood and still be alive. Sam was certain that if he moved Jake's hands, there wouldn't just be a puncture wound there – his entire throat had to have been torn open.

Sam scanned the room again, scared that he'd missed something the first time, that there was some sort of demon crouching in the corner, ready to pounce. There wasn't. Aside from the body on the floor, Sam couldn't see a single sign that an attack had occurred.

Then Ava looked up, her eyes widening when she saw them standing there. A second later, the bloody knife slipped from her fingers, its metal blade clattering against the wooden boards as it hit the floor.


	43. Part 3 Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

"It's not what you think," Ava said quickly, standing and holding up her right hand in surrender.

Sam had his gun trained on her almost before the first word was fully out of her mouth. "Then what is it?" he demanded. "Because it sure looks like you just killed Jake."

Her hand was still stained with blood, and he'd seen her clutching the knife – there was no way that she could deny it. Still, though, she shook her head insistently. "I had to," she said, a desperate edge entering her voice. "I had to kill him, or he would have killed me first."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

She stepped toward him, right hand still raised. Her left arm was held against her chest, carefully, and Sam could see that it was already starting to bruised and swell. Definitely injured, and probably broken. "He was coming after me," Ava said. Her voice was small, and pitiful, like she was on the verge of losing it completely. "He was trying to kill me, Sam. I was protecting myself."

"Jake wouldn't have done that," Sam said, then stopped, realizing that he didn't know if it was true.

He didn't think that Jake would try to kill Ava. He just didn't. But then, he didn't think that Ava seemed like the type to attack someone without a reason, either. Meaning that he had to be wrong about one of them.

"Why wouldn't he?" Ava asked, shaking her head.

Lily was the one who answered this time. "He organized us in a group," she said. "He was the one to insist on going to find more people and bring them back. He saved your life, remember? Why would he try to kill you now?"

Now, Ava's eyes narrowed, almost like she was angry, or trying to be intimidating. If that was what she was aiming for, though, the effect was ruined the moment that she opened her mouth. Her voice was still trembling. "Does that mean that you trust him?" she asked. "A hundred percent, no reservations? You really would believe that he would never, ever harm you?"

Lily scowled. "No," she said at once. "But I don't trust anyone. That includes you."

Ava shuddered at the heat in Lily's voice, and turned to Sam. "Please," she said, taking another step, holding her uninjured hand forward like she was reaching out to him. "Please, Sam, this wasn't me. I didn't want to do this, he made me. You have to believe me."

"Don't come any closer," Sam said, because he didn't know what else he was supposed to say.

She immediately froze, but kept talking. "Come on, why would I kill him? What would make me do that?"

"I don't know," Lily said, voice still hard. "Why would Jake? Or anybody?"

Ava looked like she was going to respond. Sam beat her to it.

"Because Azazel told us to," he said slowly. "Because the demon said that there's no other choice."

He remembered talking to Jake in the first house they checked, how Jake had been the one to bring it up. The way that he'd turned the gun on Sam the moment that he'd suspected that Sam might be someone that they couldn't trust. It'd been obvious that he didn't have a problem with killing someone, how Sam had looked into his eyes and sensed that it wouldn't be something that Jake would even think twice about, if he'd really had to. Someone like that would be able to kill if it came down to that, or if they thought it was their only option left.

And Jake had been the one to convince the others to split up, Sam realized. If he'd wanted to kill someone without being caught, this would be the place to do it. Alone in a room like this, where it could be blamed on a demon and nobody would be able to say otherwise, not for sure. That could have been his plan all along, come out here with the people who were most likely to fight back, get rid of the threats first. Maybe he'd planned on doing the same to Sam and Lily, and Ava had stopped him before he'd gotten the chance.

Then Sam remembered the look in Jake's eyes as he'd sworn that he would never give in and do what Azazel wanted, that he'd die before he killed for Azazel. And suddenly, it wasn't quite as clear anymore.

He swallowed, then used his gun to gesture toward the door. "Come on," he said. "We're going back to the base. You're leading the way."

Ava swallowed, and didn't move. "What are you doing with me?"

Sam tried to come up with the right words to say, but the only honest response that he could give was, "I don't know."

They couldn't keep her with the rest of the group, not if she had killed Jake in cold blood – who knew what she would do to everyone else? But they couldn't leave her alone, without backup, if she'd been acting out of self-defense. If she was a murderer, then the best thing to do would be to restrain her, tie her up somewhere to keep her from hurting anyone else, maybe post guards on her to be absolutely certain that she couldn't slip out. But if the demons attacked, then leaving her tied up would practically be a death sentence – one that they couldn't inflict on her if she was innocent.

Sam's head was starting to swim, and he didn't know what he was going to do. He had to think of something before he got back to the others. By his estimate, it would be about a ten-minute walk. He doubted that that would be enough time to make up his mind, but it was gonna have to do.

"Shouldn't we keep looking for more survivors?" Ava asked in a low voice. "There's still whole other sections of the town that we haven't checked. There could be people there."

"Yeah," Sam said, because she was right – people could still be alive, no matter what Lily said about it. Then he shook his head. "Not with you," he said. No way was he going to go check out an abandoned building with her behind him. He wasn't going to run that risk.

Ava flinched, a look of betrayal flashing in her eyes, and Sam couldn't tell if it was faked or not. If it was, then she was a damn good actor.

"You need to get your arm bandaged," he said, in a softer voice this time. "You can't fight until that's taken care of." Not that it could really be fixed up until they were out of here, and somewhere with X-Ray machines and actual plaster casts instead of the makeshift bandages that he could probably pull together for her. But he could immobilize it for her, at least, try to keep the break from getting any worse until she could actually get it checked out.

Her shoulders hunched, and she looked up at him nervously, something like hope flashing over her face. "Does that mean that you believe me?" she asked. Her voice still trembled.

Sam didn't answer. Instead, he just made another motion toward the door. "You're still walking in front of us," he said.

She looked disappointed, but she nodded. "Okay," she said quietly, and began walking.

Sam started to follow her out the door, but stopped after just a few steps, realizing that Lily wasn't following. He stopped, and turned back to look at her.

She was standing over Jake's body, staring down at it, an unreadable expression on her face. She didn't look sad, or hurt, or even remotely upset. Her face was just... blank, like she didn't feel anything at all. But as Sam watched, she slowly bent down and touched his face, then carefully closed his eyes.

When she saw Sam looking, she didn't glance away, or even glare. Instead, she just straightened, her eyes locked on Sam's, her face still strangely blank.

"I didn't actually know him, really," she said. "But he still deserves that."

Sam just nodded. She was still staring at him, but now, he looked away. "Let's go, before Ava gets ahead of us," he muttered, and headed out the door. This time, Lily followed.

* * *

><p>Nobody spoke as they walked. They passed the clock tower in utter silence, and Sam looked up, his eyes finding the tree engraved on the side of the bell once again. He still felt like there was something familiar about it, something that he should know, but whatever it was, it was eluding him completely. He felt like he was just on the edge of some important revelation, but he couldn't actually remember what it could be.<p>

"Sam," Lily said suddenly, speaking for the first time since they'd left Jake's body behind. Sam glanced at her, and she pointed over to the side. "Isn't that one new?"

Sam followed her finger, looking in the direction she was pointing. There was a boy's body about a dozen feet away from them, his dreadlocks stuck to his face with blood. Sam couldn't tell what had been the fatal wound – there were too many of them covering his body.

"I don't know," he admitted after a long second had passed. "I didn't look close the first time we passed through here."

"I did," Lily said, then pressed her lips together in a thin line. "I couldn't look away. And I definitely don't remember looking at him."

Sam glanced at the body again, then grimaced and sped up his steps, putting one hand on each of Lily and Ava's backs, urging them to hurry up. "Let's just go," he said.

He definitely did his best not to think about the fact that the boy must have passed through here soon after the four of them had. It might have been only a difference of a few minutes. And if they hadn't missed each other, then Sam could've done something. He could've made sure that the boy was still alive right now.

It was pointless, he knew it. He had to bury those thoughts in the back of his head – that was another thing that Dean had taught him, to pretend that you didn't feel the guilt until it finally went away. At first, Sam had fought with Dean over that one. He didn't want to pretend not to feel these things. He wanted to remember when he'd messed up, to make sure that it didn't happen again. But Dean had been right - there was no way to hunt while you were still mourning someone you didn't make it in time to save. If you tried, then you'd end up dead. Simple as that.

And Sam needed to stay alive until Dean and Cas made it here. The two of them had to be on their way. Cas had heard Sam's prayer, and knew exactly how to track him down, and they'd arrive as soon as they possibly could. Sam had to believe that. And there was no way that he was going to die before they got here, and force Dean to find his corpse.

No, they were going to track down Azazel, and they were going to kill him. End of story. Meaning that Sam couldn't lose it over the deaths that had already happened.

So he swallowed hard, and he pasted on a mask, forcing his face to stay calm, as if absolutely nothing was wrong. And he kept walking.

The closer that he got to the base, the harder it was to keep the mask in place.

He smelled the smoke before he saw it. All of them did, and they exchanged glances, speeding up by unspoken agreement, until they were practically jogging down the street, very nearly breaking out into a full-on run.

Then they turned a corner onto the road where their base was located, and froze.

It was the scene of a massacre. People had poured out of the building in utter terror, it looked like. He didn't think that any of them had made it. There had to have been more than one demon – this was the work of multiple monsters. Windows were shattered, wooden doors splintered and cracked. Blood covered everything. Behind the carnage, the building that had served as their base burned.

Lily had said that there were eight or nine other people in their group. Sam counted nine corpses.

"No," he said quietly, and shook his head. "No no no no."

"Sam," Ava said slowly, looking at him with worry in her face. She reached out with her right hand to touch his arm. "Are you okay?"

He didn't think that he could answer. Mutely, he shook his head.

"Sam?" Lily asked.

It was the fear in her voice that did it. Sam swallowed, and managed to find his voice. "We need to stop this."

Ava frowned. "What do you mean?"

Sam's hands clenched around his gun, and it was all he could do to keep himself from shooting. The only reason that he could hold himself back was because there was nothing for him to shoot at. But all of the anger at Azazel, the anger over his demon blood and the kidnapping and Mom's death and Jess – he could feel all of it rearing up, mixing with every other angry thought that he'd had in his life.

Someone had done this. And whoever that person was, they were going to pay.

He turned before he even knew what he was going, already starting to run off, completely ignoring the way that Lily and Ava called after him. A second later, he heard footsteps start up behind him, telling him that they were following after.

He didn't care. He didn't look back.

The clock tower. That was the center of the town, as far as he could tell, and it was the scene of the most deaths. And the most recent death, if Lily had been right about the boy. And the source of the tree symbol that he still couldn't get out of his head.

He didn't know if it would have anything, but he didn't know where else to start.

There had better be someone there. Azazel had better be there, so that Sam could make him pay. Weapons or not, he was going to find a way.

The door to enter the clock tower was wooden, and surprisingly flimsy. It only took him two tries to smash it down.

"Okay, come out," Sam called, stepping inside and turning a slow circle, his eyes flickering over every inch of the room. There was no response. He scowled, and lifted his gun, having to restrain himself from firing a warning shot just for the hell of it. He needed to conserve bullets, he knew that. He wasn't stupid. That didn't mean that they thought of shooting something – anything – wasn't tempting.

He'd never felt this way before. He'd been angry, yeah – he was always angry. But this was a whole new level of fury, simmering through his veins. He didn't know how to control it.

Right now, that didn't matter to him.

"I know you're in here," Sam screamed, his voice echoing through the room. Ava and Lily had followed him in by now, and stood in the doorway, looking like neither of them knew what to do.

Seconds passed. Sam almost started to think that he was wrong, that the amount of bodies here was nothing but a coincidence – but no, there had to be someone here. Azazel, or one of his henchmen. There had to be.

And there was.

A flicker of movement caught Sam's attention. That was all it was – just a flicker, barely visible in the corner of his eye, but he immediately spun and aimed his gun straight toward it. "Come out now or I shoot," he shouted.

For a second, nothing happened. Sam was just about to follow through on his threat when he heard a voice say, "You found me, then. Honestly, I hadn't expected that."

The voice was familiar, though Sam couldn't tell why, exactly. All he knew was that he had definitely heard it before. And it definitely wasn't Azazel.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The person didn't answer. Instead, he just stepped forward. The clock tower didn't have any windows, meaning that the room was mostly in shadows, but there was enough light streaming in through the open door for Sam to see who it was. Even so, he almost didn't recognize him.

Andy had changed in the past month. Physically, he looked almost exactly the same. His clothes were much dirtier, and his hair was a mass of tangles, like it hadn't been brushed in all the time that he'd been gone. There was a scar across his cheek that looked like it hadn't quite healed completely. But it was more than that. The look in his eyes was different. The way he held himself. It was like he was a completely different person, and even though their features were identical, Sam almost couldn't make himself connect the guy in front of him with the Andy that had insisted on running off and trying to save his twin brother without their help.

"You're still alive," Sam said, the shock momentarily cutting off his rage.

"Yup," Andy said simply. He had a knife in one hand, and judging by the way that he casually shifted it in his fingers, he had learned how to use it.

"But that's great," Sam said, taking a step forward. "We couldn't find you anywhere. Bobby kept looking, I even asked our friend Ash- There was no sign of you." The something else occurred to him, and he asked, "What about the others? Everyone else who'd been taken before today?" There had been more than fifty of them. If Andy was still alive, maybe some of them could be, too.

Andy narrowed his eyes, and his face hardened. "I'm the only one left," he said.

It wasn't just the way he looked that had changed. His voice was lower, deeper, flatter. He sounded like a different person.

Sam still had the gun in his hand, still had it aimed straight for Andy's chest. Suddenly, he was grateful that he hadn't been stupid enough to lower it. And grateful that Andy couldn't know that it only held salt rounds.

"Andy," he said slowly, "what happened to you?"

Andy didn't respond, just kept watching them with narrowed eyes.

Sam took a step closer, watching Andy warily, like he was a wild animal who might spring any moment. The longer that Sam stared at him, the more that that seemed like an apt comparison. "How did everyone else die, Andy?"

Again, Andy didn't respond. He just continued to stare. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side, still studying Sam.

Both Ava and Lily screamed.

Sam spun around, shooting off rounds of salt straight into the demons who had manifested in the doorway. Lily and Ava both threw themselves to the ground just in time to avoid being struck. Ava screamed again as she hit the ground, and rolled over, hugging her bad arm tighter to her chest, pained whimpers coming from her mouth.

A second later, he felt Andy grab his arm. Sam twisted, ripping himself out of Andy's grip and stumbling back, seconds before Andy slashed the knife straight through the space where Sam had been standing a second earlier.

"You can get rid of my demons if you want," Andy said. "I can summon more. Azazel has an endless number of soldiers."

"You're working for Azazel now," Sam said.

"Was there any other choice?" Andy snapped, and took a step closer, knife in front of him. Sam backed up a step, keeping the gun trained on Andy, finger on the trigger. But he didn't shoot. Not yet.

"There's always a choice," Sam said.

Andy laughed. Really laughed, throwing back his head, shoulders heaving. He didn't sound amused. He sounded bitter, almost insane. "You can't really believe that," he said once he'd stopped. "I've been here for a month, Sam. Believe me when I say that he can get you to do whatever the hell he wants."

"No," Sam insisted. "Not if you don't let him."

"You think I let him do this?" Andy demanded. "You think I wanted to start killing people? You think I made a choice?" He shook his head, gesturing wildly with the knife. "I had to join him, Sam. Azazel tells you to kill, and you kill. That's all there is to it. Only one of us is getting out of here alive, and it's either going to be me, or it'll be someone who's just as terrible. So why not live, huh? Why not outlive everyone else? Might as well, right?"

He was advancing again, still waving the knife in front of him. Sam continued to back up, until his back hit against the wall.

He knew that he should be pulling the trigger, that he needed to draw his extra knife from his jacket sleeve and go on the offensive. He thought about the bodies of everyone that Andy had killed – all of them outside, all of them outside what used to be the base. He could still remember the anger thrumming through his veins. But he couldn't make himself feel it anymore. Despite everything, he didn't want to make this a fight.

"This isn't you," Sam said, changing directions and dodging out of Andy's reach. Andy just turned directions, too, and kept coming. "I met you, Andy, before," Sam continued. "This isn't you. It doesn't have to be. I know that Azazel forced you into becoming this, but you can fix it. Please, don't make me hurt you."

"You think that you could?" Andy asked.

"Listen to me," Sam urged. "You remember my brother? And Cas? They know where we are. They're on their way right now, and they have a knife that can kill Azazel. You can help us do it. You know him better than any of us. We can work together. End this."

Andy stopped moving, and Sam almost thought that he was going to agree. Then he shook his head. "A little late to redeem me now, don't you think?"

"It's not," Sam insisted. He swallowed hard. "I never meant for this to happen to you, Andy. I would have protected you if I could. If I had been there, I never would have let the demons take you."

"You couldn't have stopped them," Andy said.

Lily was backed against the opposite wall, clutching her fire poker tight, but looking like she had no idea what to do with it. Ava was still sitting on the ground, though now her head was bowed, eyes closed. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Sam almost thought that she was praying.

Andy stiffened, then spun to face her. "Stop that!"

Ava didn't respond, didn't even flinch. The only part of her to move were her lips, which continued to spell out words.

"I said stop!" Andy shouted, and then black smoke poured in through the door, swirling at his feet for a second before manifesting as a young boy with pale skin and clawed hands.

"No!" Sam shouted, and spun to aim at the demon. It was already pouncing at Ava, ready to tear her apart. Sam pulled the trigger.

A second before the salt round hit, another demon rose up, almost like it was pouring out of Ava's skin. It wasn't corporeal – it was just swirling smoke, without a physical form. But the Acheri demon struck it and then didn't move, like the black smoke was holding it off.

The salt round tore through both demons. The Acheri screamed, and unearthly noise that made Sam shudder, every hair on his body standing on edge. The black smoke flickered, and vanished completely.

An instant later, the Acheri was right in front of him, grabbing Sam by the throat. He gasped, and tried to get off another shot, but the demon didn't give him a chance. A second later, Sam was flying across the room, colliding with the wall and hitting the ground in a heap.

"That was a good try, girl," Andy said, his voice low, deadly. "It looks like I'm not the only one who's willing to work with Azazel. You've given into him, huh? Summoning his demons now?"

Ava whimpered.

Andy smiled. "But you're not nearly good enough."

Sam tried to react in time. The gun had fallen from his hand when he'd hit the wall, and he groped around, trying to find it in time.

His hand closed around the gun at the exact same moment that the Acheri demon plunged its hand into Ava's chest.

She didn't scream. She didn't even get the chance to. She was dead in seconds, her body collapsing. The demon pulled its hand from her chest, fingers still clutching her heart.

Sam was on his knees instantly, pumping the demon full of salt rounds, as many as it would take to make it disappear. He didn't bother to count how many it took. The moment that the demon was gone, he spun around, and started shooting Andy with just as many.

Andy screamed as the first round of salt exploded against his chest, but managed to throw himself to the floor before any of the others could strike him. Sam scrambled to his feet, and a second later he was standing over Andy, pointing the gun down at him.

Andy lifted himself onto one elbow, glaring up at Sam. In the dark lighting, his eyes looked almost black.

"What are you going to do?" he asked. "Shoot me full of salt until I smoke out? Doesn't work on humans, Sam. Not even ones like me."

Sam nodded slowly, and lowered the gun. He still had a Swiss Army knife in his jacket sleeve, the one that he always carried, in case he ended up tied somewhere. He drew it now, and opened the blade. It wasn't big, but he knew how to kill someone with it. Hell, he had killed someone with it before. It was the same one that he'd used on Jackson weeks ago, back when the witch had been torturing Dean.

He knew it was big enough to do the job.

Andy seemed to realize the same thing, because his eyes narrowed, face twisting into something that almost didn't look human. "Do it," he snarled. "Then you'll be just like me."

"I wouldn't join Azazel's side," Sam said, voice fierce. "And I wouldn't turn into what you've become."

Andy chuckled. "You think that now, but this is how you begin," he said. "You start off killing to protect someone, then to protect yourself. And the next thing you know, they've got your claws in you. You can't stop. You have to keep going if you want to survive. It's a slippery slope, Sam. You're going to slide down just as far as I did."

Sam shifted the knife in his hand, and didn't respond.

Andy pushed himself up, until he was sitting up straight, leaning forward to keep shouting at Sam. "You know how I started? I killed my brother, Sam. Do you know what that was like? He trusted Azazel right away – he'd been working for Azazel for months already, of course he would. And he kept telling me that Azazel would make an exception, that two people could survive as long as it was the two of us."

Andy paused then. He didn't sound angry anymore. Instead, he sounded broken.

"He was going to kill a girl. I stopped him." Andy broke off, scowling, one hand reaching up to trace the scar on his cheek. "The girl turned right around and tried to rip out my throat. I stopped her, too."

"I'm sorry," Sam said.

Andy swallowed, then his hands balled into fists. "So am I, but you don't see that doing me any good," he snapped. A second later, he was on his feet, coming after Sam.

Sam grabbed him by the front of the shirt, shoving him back until he slammed against the wall, the blade of his knife pressed against Andy's throat. "Don't summon any more demons," Sam said, "or I swear, I'm not going to hesitate."

"You shouldn't be hesitating now," Andy said. "Come on, Sam. Can't do it?"

"Don't try me," Sam said.

Andy shook his head. "If you were going to, you would've done it already," he said, then tilted his head, staring up at Sam. "What is it? You still feel guilty for letting me get taken? You still think that there's some way that you can save me? All of the above." He shook his head. "You don't get it, Sam. Maybe you liked me when we met, but that person's gone. There's nothing left for you to save." He reached up, closing his hand around Sam's wrist and squeezing tight. "You two are the last ones left. I'm not going to let you stop me now."

He sensed the demon before he heard it. There weren't any signs of its arrival, not yet, but still, somehow he just knew that it was behind him.

He didn't hesitate. He shoved the knife straight into Andy's throat.

Andy made a gasping noise, but he couldn't scream. His hands flew to his throat, and for a second, Sam remembered Jake's body, the way he'd died in that exact same position after Ave had struck him.

He pulled the knife from Andy's throat. Andy fell, and Sam spun around, just in time to see Lily strike her fire poker straight through the center of the black smoke.

"You okay?" Lily asked. Her eyes were wide, and she was gasping for breath.

Sam took a deep breath, and nodded. "Come on," he said. He wiped the bloody knife on his jeans and returned it to his sleeve, then drew his gun again, holding it in his right hand while he held his left one out to Lily. She didn't take it, but he didn't wait for her to. Instead, he just grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out of the clock tower.

She didn't fight him, or try to break free. Instead, she just jogged after him, struggling to keep up. "Where are we going?"

"Away from here," Sam said. He didn't know if Andy had been telling the truth about them being the last three left. Maybe there was someone else out there, someone that Andy didn't know about, who had managed to keep themselves safe somehow. But it didn't matter. They couldn't stay here any longer, searching for someone who might not exist. If there were any other psychics hiding out, then he just had to pray that they'd manage to keep themselves safe until all of this was over.

He stopped walking abruptly, spinning to face Lily, grabbing her by the shoulders. His hands stained her jacket, leaving streaks of Andy's blood behind. "Listen," he said, leaning forward. "If Andy was right, and we're the last two left, then that means that Azazel is going to be coming after us. He's going to try to make us kill each other, so that only one of us is left alive." He squeezed her harder, fingers tightening around her shoulders. "We're not going to give in, okay? My brother and Cas are on their way, just like I said. They're going to get here, and we're going to figure something out, the four of us. You got it?"

She still looked panicked, but she didn't hesitate before she nodded. "Okay," she said. "You and me. Neither of us gives in."

"Good," Sam said, and let her go."

She didn't move back this time. Instead, she took a half step towards him, her face terrified and unsure. "How are they going to find us, though?" she asked. "I mean, as far as they're concerned, we could be anywhere."

Sam shook his head. "They know where we are," he said. "They'll be able to track us down."

That was when something in his mind finally clicked into place, and he turned slowly, tilting back his head to look up at the bell.

"Cold Oak," he said.

Lily frowned. "What?"

"That's where we are," Sam said. "Cold Oak, South Dakota."

"Okay," Lily said slowly. "And knowing this helps us how?"

He was about to say that it didn't, that all it did was mean that they could put a name to the abandoned town that stretched around them. Then he froze, suddenly remembering what else was in South Dakota. And if he was right – he thought that he was, that he remembered correctly, he thought that he knew what direction to go. And if he was right, then it was only going to be a few miles away.

"Come on," he said, and didn't wait for her response before he took off running. The sun was just barely starting to set now, but it was still enough to give him an idea which way to run, to make sure that he was heading in the right direction.

He didn't slow down, and after a few seconds, he heard Lily fall into step right behind him. He didn't stop to look back at her, though. Instead, he just kept going. He was running too hard to try to speak out loud, but he screamed prayers in his thoughts, practically begging Cas to be able to hear him, even if the prayers were only in his head.

He didn't know if it would work, if Cas would be able to hear him like this – or if Cas could hear him at all, for that matter. Maybe the prayers from earlier hadn't even gone through, and thinking that Dean and Cas were coming for him was just a fool's dream.

He couldn't allow himself to believe that, though. Not really. Dean and Cas were on their way, they had to be. He couldn't do this without them.

_Please, Cas,_ he thought desperately, and he'd start begging out loud, too, if he had the breath. Instead, his mind was going to have to do. _Please, please be able to hear me._

* * *

><p>They were practically flying down the highway when Cas suddenly stiffened. He had been partway through telling some story about ancient Neanderthals at the beginning of time, or something. Dean had stopped paying attention a few miles back, and he was pretty sure that Cas knew it, too. But right then, Dean didn't so much care what the words were. He just liked hearing Cas' voice. Call him stupid, but it steadied him, helped keep him focused so that the hallucinations didn't turn worse. Cas could spend the whole trip babbling gibberish and Dean would be just fine with it. And Cas knew it, because he'd started going off on tangents about things that weren't even remotely related.<p>

Now, though, Cas' voice cut off, one hand reaching up to grab the side of his head.

"Cas?" Dean asked, taking his eyes off the road for just a moment to look at him. "Cas, you okay?"

"Yes, I am," Cas said quickly, then frowned. "I know where Sam is. Exactly."

"What?"

Cas nodded. "He's praying to me again," he said, and tilted his head. "He sounds urgent. Terrified. But I don't believe that he has been harmed."

Dean looked over at him again. "That's great, isn't it?" he asked, and Cas nodded. "Then what's the problem?" Dean demanded. Because there had to be something. Cas was staring straight ahead, looking like his frown was practically etched into his freakin' face.

"You remember where I hid the Colt?" Cas asked slowly. "The devil's trap that Samuel Colt had made entirely out of railroads?"

Well, obviously Dean knew about it. It'd only been a few days, and he wasn't an idiot – he wasn't about to go forgetting about something so important any time soon. He didn't waste time pointing that out, though. Instead he just said, "Yeah, I know what you're talking about. Why? Is that where Sammy is?"

"Yes," Cas said, then amended, "Or, he is moving in that direction, anyway. He is only a few miles away, and intends for us to find him there."

Dean nodded, mentally running through the directions in his head. Okay, they were heading the right way if they were planning on meeting up there, then. Or, at least, Dean didn't know of a faster way to reach South Dakota fast. "Still haven't told me what the issue is," he added after a moment. "In my book, all of this is good news."

"Oh, I think so, too," Cas said quickly, the words tripping over each other, like he was racing to reassure Dean. "At least, it is good that we know exactly where your brother is. And if he reaches the railroads and crosses over them, the demons won't be able to harm him." Dean scowled at the word _if_, and after a moment, Cas seemed to realize what he'd just said, because he awkwardly amended, "When he reaches the railroads. Of course your brother will arrive safely. There is no reason to believe that he won't."

"Just keep talking," Dean said.

Cas frowned, and still looked concerned, but he nodded. "What worries me is that Azazel could have taken the psychics to anyplace in the world, and I'm sure there are many areas that would have been much better located, if he were just trying to hide their presence. So then, what is the purpose of taking them here, so close to a place where they would be safe from him?"

"You don't think it's a coincidence?" Dean asked.

Cas immediately shook his head. "No," he said, and Dean grimaced, but he couldn't exactly argue with that. He wasn't putting too much hope in coincidences, either. "There must be a reason why Azazel is staying so close to this place, and whatever it is, I believe that it is connected to whatever it was that Samuel Colt was trying to keep the demons from reaching."

Dean turned his attention back to the road, and tightened his hands around the wheel. "Well, then," he said, "whatever this bastard is after, we just need to make sure that we get to it first."

Cas nodded sharply. "Agreed."

Dean pushed harder on the gas pedal. The speedometer inched up to a hundred miles an hour, but even so, he couldn't shake the thought that they still weren't going to be fast enough.


	44. Part 3 Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

"Okay," Lily gasped, and stopped running, bent over with her hands on her knees. "Okay, you're gonna need to slow down a bit."

Sam nodded, and took the opportunity to catch his own breath. He waited a minute, just long enough for Lily's breathing to almost get back to normal, then said, "Come on, we're almost there."

Sam had lost track of how long they'd been running, or how far they'd gone. Neither of them had their watches, and though Lily's phone had been in her pocket when she'd first appeared here, it had gotten smashed to pieces about five minutes after she'd woken up. She'd said that it hadn't been doing her much good, anyway, since she wasn't getting any service. Still it meant that they had no way of knowing what time it was. Sam thought that it had to have been at least two, maybe three hours since they'd left Cold Oak, though. By now, it was already growing dark, and he thought that they had to at least be getting close to the railroad tracks.

"You really think this is going to do any good?" Lily asked, as soon as she'd caught her breath enough to respond. "Azazel got us once, didn't he? What makes you think that he's not going to just pull us right back?"

That was a good question, honestly – one that Sam didn't actually have an answer to. He didn't want to say that, though, so he just shrugged. She scowled, clearly not finding that at all reassuring, and he quickly added, "We've got to do something, though. It's better than waiting around for him to come find us. At least we can try." That did nothing to lessen his scowl, so he added, "And Dean-"

"I know, I know," Lily snapped, cutting him off. "You're brother and his magical boyfriend are going to come rescue us from the demons and save the day. I heard you the first time. You got any thoughts on what we do if they don't make it here on time?"

"They will," Sam said, for no reason other than he didn't want to tell her the truth – that even if Dean drove in his normal, reckless way, it'd still be hours before they could get here.

That wasn't so long, right? All they had to do was get themselves over the railroad, where Azazel wouldn't be able to reach them, and then hold out there until they got backup. As soon as Dean and Cas were here, then they'd finally be able to switch over to the offensive, to actually work out a way to kill Azazel instead of just running scared.

Maybe Azazel would just use the spell to haul them back again, and maybe this was pointless, but they still had to try something. And he'd meant it when he'd said that they couldn't just sit around twiddling their thumbs until Azazel finally caught them.

"You ready?" Sam asked, and the way that Lily rubbed her side made him think that no, she wasn't.

If she was hurting, though, she didn't say anything. Instead, she just nodded once, looking determined. "Let's go," she said.

They kept running.

* * *

><p>It was another half an hour before the railroad came into view.<p>

They were both exhausted. They'd had to slow to a walk by then, and though Sam wanted to urge Lily to at least jog some of the time, he held his tongue. It wasn't going to do them any good if they were both too tired to defend themselves if – _when_ – the demons caught up to them.

Despite everything, though, he couldn't help but grin when he first saw the metal gleaming slightly in the moonlight. "We're almost there," he said, turning toward Lily, his grin pulling even wider.

She shook her head. "Won't do any good," she said. But she did speed up her steps, just a little.

They were about fifteen feet away when Sam heard something in the forest rustle behind them, like twigs crunching as they were crushed underfoot. He stopped walking, instantly spinning and raising his gun to point toward the noise. Maybe it was nothing, but he wasn't going to risk it, not when they were this close.

"That's not going to do any good, you know," Azazel said, and stepped out of the trees, walking towards them with a lazy smile on his face. "And I wouldn't try to move, either. You're not going to make it that far."

Azazel was right. Salt rounds weren't going to do much, not against a demon as strong as him. Still, though, Sam couldn't make himself lower it.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Azazel said slowly, shaking his head as he came closer and closer. "I always knew that you'd end up here. You were the one I've been betting on, ever since you were a baby. Now, Lily, I'll admit that you're more of a surprise. I'd hoped that a power like yours would make you a contender, but you just didn't have that killing edge. I pegged you as being one of the first to die – congratulations on proving me wrong."

Sam saw the way that she shuddered, the terror that flashed across her face, but when she spoke, it didn't show in her voice. Somehow, she managed to keep her voice calm. "What do you even want from us?"

The smile slid from Azazel's face, and he stopped walking, standing only a few feet away from them. "Nothing," he said.

"That doesn't make any sense," Sam said.

Azazel tilted his head. "Oh, but it does," he said calmly. "It's simple. I have plans in place, but not for the _two_ of you." He held up one hand, then slowly curled down his fingers, until only one remained. He used it to point to Lily, then Sam, then said, "I only need one."

"You're not getting either of us," Sam snapped.

Azazel raised his eyebrows. "I find that hard to believe," he said. "One of you is going to give in and kill the other to save yourself. I've bent all of my other children to my will – all of them that looked strong enough to bother trying to control, that is. And they've all given into me, Sam, every single one that I decided to sink my teeth into. Some of them didn't make it a day before doing what I said. You won't be any different."

"And what if we don't?" Lily said. This time, she didn't sound quite as determined, and Sam could hear just the slightest quiver in her voice, betraying how terrified she was. Still, though, she continued to put on a good show of it, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes in the semblance of a glare.

Azazel was quiet then. He didn't move, just watched them, and the silence stretched on for several seconds. Not that long of a time, not really, but just long enough that Sam almost wondered if Azazel didn't have an answer. Then, Azazel smiled.

That's when Sam heard the growls.

"Two options," Azazel said. "You could save yourself right now, or I could let my boys release their hounds, and we'll see which one of you makes it out. And believe me, you're gonna want to go with option number one." He paused, like he was waiting for them to ask. When neither of them said a word, Azazel frowned and spread his hands. "Don't you want to know why?"

"Why?" Sam asked, practically spitting out the word.

"Because if you don't, then I'm not going to be happy with whoever the winner is," he said. "You might have to be punished for making me go through so much trouble." Lily opened her mouth, but Azazel held up one hand, silencing her. "And no," he said, "I can't harm either of you – can't risk something happening to my champion, now can I? But you both have families, you know. I don't think you want to know what I could do to them."

The growls were coming closer. They were coming from all around, the sounds echoing from the left, the right, in front of them – everywhere but behind them, where the railroad lay. Right now, they were advancing slowly. Sam guessed that they were still ten, maybe fifteen feet away, and it would take them at least a few minutes to close that distance, at this rate. All of that would change once Azazel told them to strike.

Sam looked at Lily, trying to mentally tell her what he wanted her to do. But her eyes were locked on Azazel's face like she couldn't rip herself away, and she didn't even seem to notice that Sam was trying to convey a message.

"Maybe I should punish both of your families, anyway," Azazel continued, his voice almost thoughtful. "After all, why does it matter who wins and who loses? You're both being unreasonable. So then, one of you can go to the grave knowing what I'm about to do to your loved ones, and the other one can live to hear their screams. Does that sound good?"

Lily was shaken by the threat, that much was obvious. Sam didn't know what she was thinking, or how she was going to react, and there wasn't time to figure it out.

Sam spun around and grabbed her arm, yanking it sharply. "Run," he said, and took off, pulling her behind him and desperately hoping that she would listen.

She stumbled, throwing out her arms to try to steady herself, but Sam couldn't afford to slow down at all. Already he could hear the hellhounds charging after them, ready to do exactly what Azazel had said that they would.

Lily regained her balance, and the two of them kept racing towards the railroads. She seemed to have figured out exactly what he was trying to do.

It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, if even that long. Sam could feel the hellhounds getting closer, could see the railroad only a few feet in front of him. He and Lily launched themselves forward-

And then he was hitting the ground on the other side of the railroad, stumbling to try to keep his balance, he and Lily tightening their grips on each other's arms to keep each other upright.

Sam breathed hard for a minute, catching his breath, then slowly turned around to look at Azazel. He could still hear the hounds growling from the other side of the railroads, only a few feet away, but they couldn't cross the iron lines. Couldn't come any closer.

If he was expecting Azazel to look upset, or even bothered at all, then he was wrong. Azazel was watching them, but his face was completely blank, unperturbed.

"You can stay away from me if you want," he said. "I'll be honest, I'm even a little impressed that you outran my hounds and managed to make it over. I was expecting them to take a bite out of your backsides. But you realize that you two are the only ones that have crossed those lines. Think of all of the people who are still on my side of the tracks."

"What do you mean?" Lily asked.

Azazel didn't look at her, though. Instead, his eyes remained locked on Sam. "Think about your family, Sammy," he said. "I already killed your mother, didn't I? What do you say? Think that Daddy should be victim number two? Or, he'd be three, I guess, since your girlfriend was already number two. But what about your special friend – Castiel, his name is." Sam's surprise must have shown on his face, because Azazel smiled and nodded. "Oh, yes, I know all about him. I've got to keep track of my children, don't I? Check up on them, make sure that they're doing okay, figure out their weaknesses... I know who Castiel is, too. Haven't heard much from him recently, but if what he did to Naomi is any indication, he must've messed himself up pretty badly. What do you say, Sam? Think that I could take him?"

Sam's hand tightened around his gun, but he didn't raise it this time, didn't want to risk making it clear that Azazel was getting to him. "Cas would beat you," he said, trying to make his voice dismissive, and not quite succeeding.

Azazel shrugged. "Debatable," he said. "But could he take all of my hellhounds? And keep your brother safe in the process? Because I'm pretty sure that you don't want my hounds getting their teeth into your brother."

Sam narrowed his eyes, and his hand clenched and unclenched on the gun again, though he didn't let any of this show on his face, or in his voice. "Are you offering me a trade?" he demanded, voice passive, as calm as he could make it. Inside, though, his head was whirling. He couldn't help the images that flashed through his mind. Dean, in Hell for all of eternity, tortured to no end because he had decided to save Sam's life. Or Dean, surviving, getting to grow old-

Then Azazel laughed.

"Oh, Sammy, you greatly underestimate how important your brother is to me," he said, and chuckled again, shaking his head. "Oh, don't look so sad," he added, stepping forward. By now, he was almost to the iron bars, as close as he could possible get to the two of them. Lily shuddered and stepped back a step. Sam held his ground. "You're important, too, you know. Not trying to imply that you're not. It's just that your brother has a more... immediate purpose. Your main part comes later."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "I know why you want Dean," he said. "You need him to break your seals for you. Release Lucifer from Hell. But what are you doing with me?"

For the first time, Azazel looks surprised, though he covered it quickly. "Your angel friend's told you more than I thought," he said, completely ignoring Sam's question, then nodded. "So you know what comes next."

"Dean in Hell. Torturing him until he gives in and breaks your first seal for you," Sam said flatly. "Yeah. Got the memo."

This time, Azazel looked almost proud. "If you know all of that," he said, slowly, dragging out the words, "then you must know that you're not going to be needed until after the seals have been broken. Sure, I had hoped that you'd be the one breaking them for me, but..."

His voice trailed off, and then he turned to Lily, a sickly smile on his face.

"You've done so well, you know," he said, lifting one hand like he was going to reach out to her. He wouldn't be able to – no part of him could cross the iron, not even his hand. But still, she took another step back. Azazel's smile widened. "You've been living with your parents for over a year, and you haven't touched either of them in all this time. Moving away from their hands, locking your door at night to make sure neither of them came in to check on you- It must've been hard for you."

"You've been watching me," Lily said, horror and disgust mingling in her voice.

He didn't even bother to answer the question, just tilted his head and said, "After all that work, I bet you'd hate it if something happened to them, wouldn't you?"

"Don't you dare-" Lily began, starting forward. Sam grabbed her shoulder, and she froze, her voice cutting off without finishing.

Azazel didn't react, just kept watching her. "There are a few different things I could do," he said, conversationally. "How would you like it if I skinned them alive and sewed their flesh onto each other's bodies. That's one that I've always wanted to try."

A small noise escaped Lily's mouth, but other than that, she managed to keep herself from reacting – noticably, at least. If Sam had looked at her, he would've said that she was completely steady, but his hand was still on her shoulder, and he could feel her trembling.

"It doesn't have to be that one," Azazel assured her. "After all, my hounds need to be fed, too. I'm sure we could work something else out. The only problem with using the hounds is that they have no sense of control – It's over far too quickly. We can't risk that, can we? I want to make sure that it goes on long enough for us to really enjoy it."

Lily was shaking hard now, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes wide like she couldn't tear them away from Azazel's face.

"Lily," Sam whispered, tightening his hand on her shoulder, fingers digging into her skin. "Don't listen to him. We can protect your family, okay? We-"

"Can you, Sam?" Azazel asked. "Can you really? And how do you think you'll actually do that? You have a plan worked out?" A pause, then he gestured to Sam. "No, I mean it. Go on, don't be shy. We want to hear all the details."

Sam ran through the calculations. Dean and Cas had to already be on their way. Even if Sam prayed to them now, they wouldn't be able to turn back in time to arrive before Azazel's demons could – and Sam knew Dean well enough to know that there was no way that he would even consider going back, not even to save someone else's' life. Not if he knew that Sam was in danger. And Dad was long gone. Sam couldn't imagine him sticking around anywhere close to Lily's town, not when there was no proof that Azazel would be there any time soon. He could be halfway across the country by now. Bobby-

Nothing that Sam could think of would work. He couldn't tell her that, though.

"Don't listen to him," he insisted. "Demons lie, Lily."

"Why, Sam," Azazel gasped, "you offend me!"

"Don't do anything he wants you to do," Sam said, turning Lily to force her to look at him. "It's not worth it. What they're planning-"

Lily jerked away from him, stumbling back a few steps before turning toward Azazel. "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing too complicated," Azazel said. He gestured her forward, and Lily hesitated, but stepped forward, across the railroad tracks.

"Lily, don't," Sam said, and tried to rush forward to grab her. A growl from the other side of the tracks stopped him cold. He couldn't see the hellhounds, obviously – he hadn't been the one to sell his soul – but he could sense them, only a couple feet away. It was impossible to say how many of them there were, but he knew that it was definitely enough that he wouldn't be able to get them all with his gun. They'd sneak up behind him and tear him apart while he was shooting at one in front of him.

Lily was tense, letting out a small squeak when a growl rose out of the seemingly-empty air beside her. But she didn't back down, or flinch away. And she didn't turn to look back at Sam.

Azazel reached into his jacket, then pulled out the Colt. He held it out to her, and Lily's hands were shaking, but then she closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath, and when her hands closed around the Colt, she had gotten them steady.

"There's a cemetery in the exact center of the railroads," Azazel said, closing his own hands around Lily's, holding both her and the Colt. "And in the exact center of the cemetery is a crypt. The Colt is the key to opening the door. All you need to do is unlock it, and the things inside will do the rest."

Lily flinched at the mention of things inside the crypt, and for a single second, Sam thought that she was going to back down. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and nodded. "I understand," she said.

"Lily-" Sam said.

She turned to look at him. She was biting her lower lip, and guilt was written all over her face, but she just shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry," she said, mouthing the words instead of actually speaking out loud.

Azazel stepped forward, wrapping one arm around her. She tensed, but didn't pull away. "Nothing to be sorry for," he said, giving her shoulder a pat. "You're doing the right thing, you know. I'm sure your parents are going to be very grateful." He looked toward Sam. "There's still time to change your mind, you know. We could turn this into a real duel to the death, and I bet you'd take her. I meant it when I said that you've been one of my favorites, Sam."

"Go to hell," Sam snapped, not really thinking about it, or the different meaning that that would have for a demon.

Azazel just sighed. "Oh, well," he said, turning back to Lily and giving her another pat on the shoulder. "You were never the strongest, but you'll do. It's you blood that I really need, in any case. That, and your obedience, of course." He glanced at Sam again as he added, "Really, I could've gotten any one of my children to do the job. Of course, I was hoping that this little contest would narrow it down to the best fighter, but what can you do?"

His hand suddenly tightened on Lily's shoulder, hard enough to make her flinch, a whimper escaping her lips like she couldn't hold it back. Sam couldn't tell if it was from pain or fear, or probably both. Either way, Azazel didn't pay it any notice.

"You'll do just fine," he assured her, fingers gripping even tighter. "We'll work with you, toughen you up. Turn you into the leader I need you to be. Trust me, we've got all the time in the world to whip you into shape. For now, we just need to get a move on." He let go of her shoulder and moved his hand to her lower back, nudging her forward. "Opening the crypt is step number one. We can worry about everything else later."

She stumbled, then nodded, slowly creeping toward the railroad like each step was as long as a mile.

"And one more thing," Azazel said. His tone was casual, but it turned darker as he moved forward to give her another nudge. "I suggest you run."

She did. Maybe it was just that fear was a strong motivator, but Sam swore than she was running faster than he'd ever seen her go before, even during the long hours of trying to reach the railroad.

He spun around, ready to chase after her. Then from behind him, he heard, "Sam!"

He stopped, turned around. Azazel was once again right up against the railroad, as close as he could possibly come. He leaned forward now, until he was forced to stop, his face pressed against the invisible barrier that the iron created. He narrowed his eyes, and smiled.

"You can try to avoid me now," Azazel said slowly. "You can refuse to be my chosen one, or to do what I say right now, but you are going to pay your part in your destiny. You're not going to be able to escape me forever."

Sam didn't even bother to respond to that. He just turned around and took off after Lily without another word.

She was fast. That much was clear, and Sam thought that most people wouldn't be able to catch her. His legs were longer, though, making it easier to outpace her. And he was just as scared as she was. Any boost that the adrenaline gave her, he was sure that it was thrumming through his veins, too. It was barely a minute before he was grabbing her by the arm, yanking her to a stop.

"Let go," she snapped, spinning around to face him and yanking her arm roughly from his grasp – or trying to, anyway. He tightened his grip, and didn't let go.

"You're scared, I know," Sam said, the words coming out as a shout now, fear and desperation and everything else mixing together until he couldn't keep his voice calm. "Trust me, I know. If Azazel gets his hands on my brother, he's going to do worse to him than he could ever do to your parents, and that's not an exaggeration. I don't even want to think about what he's got planned for Dean." That wasn't a lie, either. In face, Sam had devoted quite a lot of time over the past week toward actively trying not to imagine what Azazel had in mind once Dean was in Hell, and failing horribly. "I want to protect people, too. But not like this."

She shook her head frantically, tugging harder to pull herself free, and still not managing it. "You don't understand," she said, her voice hitching in the middle, getting louder and more desperate the longer she spoke. "Your brother can protect himself. My parents-"

"I know," Sam said. "Believe me, I know. But doing this isn't going to save them. Azazel is going to hold their lives over your head for as long as you live, use them to make you do whatever he wants. That's why you have to let me help you kill him."

He made a grab for the gun. She twisted, and managed to hold it out of his reach.

"I don't care," she said. "He can do whatever the hell he wants with me, as long as he doesn't hurt my family."

"Even if innocent people die instead?" Sam demanded. "Even if they die just as horribly as anything that Azazel would put your family through?"

Something flashed on her face, guilt or fear or anger or all three, but it was gone before he managed to see what it was. "I'll do whatever I have to," she said, then swallowed hard, her voice wavering as she said, "They're my family, Sam. I have to do this."

But she wasn't trying to pull herself free from his grip anymore. She was just standing there, trembling and staring up at him, her eyes too wide, blinking hard like she was trying to keep herself from crying. Sam could see it in ever inch of her face that she was barely holding it together. One little push, and he was pretty sure that she would fall apart completely.

He looked her in the eyes, not breaking his gaze as he let go of her arm. He waited a moment, giving her the chance to take off if she wanted to. She didn't move.

"Give me the gun," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I can't," she whispered.

Sam slowly stretched his arm out, then closed his hand around the barrel of the gun. She turned her head and watched him, but didn't make a move to stop him, or to pull away.

He started to tug the Colt from her grasp, and only now did she react. She shook her head sharply, jerking back. The Colt fell from both of their hands, tumbling into the dirt.

"I'm going to pick it up," Sam said firmly, not giving her room to argue. He half expected her to attack him then, to do what Azazel had told her to. That's why he gradually began to bend down to reach for the Colt, not daring to take his eyes off of her for a second. Her eyes were closed, though, her arms crossed and her fingers digging into her skin, mouth moving even though he couldn't hear the words she whispered.

He had almost reached the Colt when the rumbling started. He froze, then scooped the Colt up, hurrying to straighten and turn to see what it was.

The ground was shaking. Where they stood, it was still completely steady, not even a whisper of a tremor underfoot. But two hundred feet away, back where the railroad lay, the ground began to buck and twist, the ground beneath the railroad rising higher and higher until the railroad itself finally broke free. The iron bars rose into the air – twenty feet, thirty feet, forty. In the back of his mind, a voice whispered to Sam that he should be running, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. Instead, he watched, transfixed, as the railroad bars suddenly crashed to the ground in a heap.

Running wouldn't have done much good, anyway. The moment that he turned around, Azazel was standing right in front of him, hands closing around the Colt. Sam was shocked enough that Azazel managed to rip the Colt from him before he had even fully realized what was happening.

"Angels," Azazel said, in way of explanation, giving Sam this smug grin. "They wanted to keep a low profile, make sure that nobody knew what we were doing. But why bother with the secrecy when your pal Castiel has already let the cat out of the bag? If we're going to do something, might as well go all the way."

Lily stumbled away, arms wrapped tighter around herself as if that would do anything to protect her. Sam didn't see Azazel move, but suddenly he was behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other clutching her throat.

"I'd love to stay around and chat with you some more, Sam, but Lily and I've got a gate to open," he said, hauling her back, forcing her to stumble after him. "Don't worry," he added. "I'm sure we'll get the chance to see each other again. After all, you'd be amazed by how much the angels can do. And that includes bringing people back from the dead."

There were growls echoing all around him. Hellhounds. And they were getting closer.

"It'll be okay, Sammy boy," Azazel said. "You're not the one who sold your soul, remember? You'll end up in Heaven, no problem. And I'm sure that the angels will take good care of you once you're up there."

Then he was gone, him and Lily both vanishing in the blink of an eye, disappearing before Sam could even think of trying to do something to stop him.

Then the hellhounds attacked.

* * *

><p>Cas was praying to Hester now.<p>

He had been for a while now, adding in a brief call to her alongside all of the random stories he was telling to try to keep Dean sane. But the longer they drove, the stiffer Cas seemed to grow, until he was staring out the window with his hands balled into fists in his lap, not moving, his voice dropping to a monotone. "We really do need your help," he was saying now. "If you can use these prayers to find our location and come to us, I would be grateful. Or you could travel to Samuel Colt's devil's trap – I trust that you know where it is – and aid Sam. Either would be fine with me. Please, we just need help."

"Why are you doing that?" Dean had asked the question a couple dozen miles ago, back when Cas had first started up the never-ending prayer. Cas had just frowned, and said, "Cars are slow."

Dean hadn't asked any more questions after that. He knew exactly what Cas was trying to say. After all, it wasn't like Cas was the only one who felt like no matter how fast they sped down the highway, they still weren't going to be there in time to do anything about it.

That's why Dean didn't say anything else about the prayers, even as the minutes stretched on and it became more and more obvious that they weren't doing any good. Hell, maybe they were even doing some harm – Dean swore there were moments when Cas' words started grating in his ears, reminding him that they were on their own with this one, with no help from upstairs coming their way. Then the world would start to warp and twist in front of him, but he'd hold the car steady and breathe deep until it went away.

Still, though, if this was helping Cas to deal, then Dean wasn't about to tell him to stop. Still, though, it wasn't like he expected it to work.

Which explained why he freaked out so much when a voice from the backseat said, "Castiel."

"Shit," Dean said, the word ripping itself from his mouth without him even meaning to say it, and his hands jerked on the wheel, nearly sending them careening into the next lane. Another car laid on the horn, and Dean tried to steer back into his lane as fast as he could, but the car beside him wasn't going to get out of the way in time, and the Impala wasn't changing course fast enough, and they were-

-on the side of the road, not moving. Dean's foot wasn't even on the gas pedal anymore. Beside them, cars continued to drive past, but they were far enough on the shoulder that they didn't have to worry about being hit.

Dean spun around. Hester was sitting in the backseat, her hands folded in her lap, regarding him calmly.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded.

She frowned at him. "I had thought that you wouldn't enjoy it if you got into another car accident," she said, "especially considering what happened the last time that your car was hit."

Dean scowled, and Cas said, "You likely just terrified everyone who had been driving around us."

"Yes," Hester agreed. "Nevertheless, I still thought that it would be worth it to save your lives."

Okay, enough with the transportation crap. To be honest, Dean didn't give a rat's ass about what she'd just done. Instead, he cut straight to what he'd wanted to know. "Is Sammy okay?" he demanded, at the same moment that Cas asked, "Will you help us?"

Hester ignored Dean completely, turning her body to face Cas instead. "Yes, I will," she said, then leaned forward. "But I am here because I need you to help me."

"How?" Cas asked.

"What the fuck is happening with my brother?" Dean demanded again, louder this time.

Her eyes flickered to Dean. "Your brother is alive," she said, "though not for much longer if we do not intervene."

"Then intervene," Dean snapped. "Right now."

Hester shook her head impatiently. "This is bigger than one human," she said.

Cas' eyes narrowed. "Not to me," he said.

Hester scooted forward in her seat, moving so that she was even closer to Cas, reaching out to place her hands on his shoulders. "Brother," she said, voice imploring. "This is our chance. Maybe our only chance. And I cannot do this without you."

Dean didn't have a clue what this girl was going on about, or what chance she wanted them to take, and he doubted that Cas did, either. But that didn't seem to matter, because Cas immediately reached up, brushing her hands off his shoulders. "I need to ensure that Sam is safe," he said firmly. "That is the most important thing now."

"Right now, Azazel is preparing to take one of his children to the Gate," Hester said. "He intends to force her into opening the Gate to Hell and releasing Lilith so that the seals can begin to break."

"Wait, what?" Dean demanded, voice rising, and he could see the same shock cross Cas' face.

They'd never actually figured out what the devil's trap was meant to protect. Of course it would be something as fucking huge as this.

Cas recovered quicker than Dean did, pulling his thoughts together and organizing them into a question while Dean's mind was still going _What the hell?_ "Then Dean and I will stop him," Cas said. "With Sam."

For a single second, Hester looked frustrated, almost angry. Her face quickly shifted to something more thoughtful, though, and then she nodded. "Alright," she said. "I will ensure the Winchesters' safety if you agree to come with me."

"What do I have to do?" Cas asked.

She tilted her head, regarding him carefully. "Do you agree?"

"No," Dean snapped. No way was Cas going to take part in some angel's plan, not even an angel who claimed to be on their side and had healed Cas in the past. Especially when she wasn't even going to tell them what this plan was. Too risky, and Dean wasn't about to let a deal go down to save Sam if it meant losing Cas, too. That was his job, nobody else's. If anyone was going to give themselves up so that Sammy would be okay, it would be him.

Cas, though, didn't even hesitate. "I do," he said, only a second after Dean had spoken.

Hester smiled, then reached forward and pressed her fingertips against Cas' forehead.

Cas vanished.

Instantly the angel blade was in Dean's hand, almost before he'd realized that he'd drawn it. "What the fuck did you do with him?" he demanded, spinning and aiming the blade toward Hester's chest. And if she didn't give them answers, he swore he wouldn't be shy about using it. No one fucked with his family and escaped in one piece, that was a promise.

She narrowed her eyes, looking largely unimpressed. "He is nowhere where he will be harmed, I can assure you of that," she said. "And I don't have time to explain anything more to you. I give it less than a minute before Azazel has reached the Gate, and by then, your brother will most definitely be dead."

Dean's throat was dry, and he swallowed. "Take me to him," he demanded, and his voice was steady, at least. "Send me to wherever he is right this minute, you got that, or else-"

He didn't the chance to finish that threat before Hester was pressing her hand against the side of Dean's forehead. He heard Hester's voice, coming at him from somewhere far away – even farther than the messed-up hallucinations were making everything sound. "Escape as fast as you can, and you will not be harmed. Castiel will join you later."

Her words faded away, though he swore he could almost feel them like something physical, bouncing around inside his brain.

Then everything went to black.

* * *

><p>Even in his humanlike form, Cas immediately recognized that he was in Heaven.<p>

It was a version of Heaven that he knew well. The Tuesday afternoon of a man who chose to spend his eternity flying his kite in what was one of the most beautiful meadows Cas had even seen in all of his travels through Heaven and Earth. There had been decades where he hadn't been needed, and would lie in the grasses, watching the man and his kite and feeling deeply content. Naomi had taken advantage of this Heaven more than once, leaving him here after his mind was rewritten, so that he would feel peaceful when he woke, and be less likely to fight against the reprogramming.

Now, though, it did nothing to reassure him. "Why have you brought me here?" he demanded, turning to Hester, hands balled into fists. "You said that you would take me to rescue Sam."

Hester shook her head. "I sent Dean Winchester to his brother's aid," she said. "I guarantee to you that they have the means to escape unharmed. They will not be involved with the upcoming battle."

Cas frowned, but slowly nodded. He supposed that that was fair, even if would prefer to be with them, to see with his own eyes that they were truly safe. He had made a deal, though, and he wasn't going to refuse to hold up his own end. Which meant that now, he had to fulfill whatever task Hester had set for him.

Even so, as he gazed around at the perfect green grass and the deep blue sky above them, he still couldn't help but point out, "That still doesn't explain why you chose to bring me here, of all places. Or why you have taken me to Heaven in general." And when he thought of what had happened the last time that he had been in Heaven, he couldn't help but be wary. His hands twitched, longing to draw his blade, even though he had given it to Dean.

He was powerless, unarmed, and in the angels' domain. If they wished to kill him – or rewrite his mind – then now would be an easy time to do so.

He didn't think that Hester meant his harm, though.

"By now, the other angels know that you are here," she said, tilting her head to the side in the strangely-human gesture that he had seen from her a few times already. In all the times that they had been on Earth together, she had always struggled with copying the human's mannerisms in order to avoid suspicion, perhaps even more than Cas himself did. Now, though, she seemed to have picked up on them relatively quickly since her decision to turn against Naomi.

"How do you know?" Cas asked. "That the angels can sense me, I mean."

Her eyes widened, making her look vaguely surprised as she said, "They speak of you."

Cas nodded. Whatever was preventing him from hearing the angels, it was still in effect. He tried to reach out toward the wavelengths, but was met with only silence. Still, though, he trusted that Hester was telling the truth.

"They will be arriving any moment," Hester added.

Cas stiffened at that, but made himself nod again, forcibly reminding himself that Hester had promised that he would not come to harm. "How does this relate to me?" he asked.

Hester turned to look him in the eye, her expression deadly serious as she said, "Castiel." She paused after speaking his name, as if for emphasis, or perhaps she was simply trying to collect her words. Either way, it was several seconds before she continued, "I need you to make them think."

Cas frowned. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Naomi has shown herself," Hester said, and though her voice still mostly remained calm, there was an excitement leaking into it now. If Cas had not been listening so closely, he might have missed the fact that she was showing any emotion at all. But it was definitely there. "She has lifted the iron bars surrounding the cemetery to allow the demons entrance."

Cas' hands clenched, but otherwise, he didn't allow himself to react. Instead, he focused on processing the information as calmly as possible, to determine what exactly this meant for him, and for Sam and Dean. "I still don't see your point."

"The angels want to know why she would do so," Hester said, and yes, the excitement was definitely much more pronounced now. "I believe that Naomi plans on offering an explanation soon, and rewriting the minds of those who do not believe her. From what I can tell, that appears to be her usual means of dealing with these matters. Which is why we must act now, before she gets the chance to take action."

Finally, Cas understood. "You want me to speak to the angels now, before she has the chance to brainwash them again," he said. "Bring them to our side now, while they are confused and willing to listen."

"Exactly," Hester said.

Cas shook his head. "I still don't see why you needed me to aid you with speaking to them."

"Because Azazel will be preparing to open the Gate any moment," Hester said. "I must return to Earth soon, to ensure that this does not happen."

Cas nodded, accepting that as enough of an explanation. But apparently Hester was not done.

"And because I have never seen an angel rebel against the leaders of Heaven and return to talk about it," she said. "Lucifer was punished for his actions, and Gabriel and Anna simply disappeared, never to be heard of again. Presumably they are alive, but if they are, there is no way to prove it."

Cas knew that, of course. He still remembered the exact moments when he had learned that his brother and his sister had rebelled, the shock and betrayal and pain that had followed the revelation. And the other angels must have felt something similar when he had disappeared, perhaps even tinged with grief, considering that they undoubtedly thought him to be dead. Somehow, the thought had never occurred to him before this moment.

"But you," she said, reaching forward and clasping his shoulders. "All of Heaven knows that you rebelled to save the Righteous Man. Naomi has been spreading lies about you, saying that you have been killed for your sins, preventing any of the angels from following your lead. Right now, they all follow her ruling, but that is only because they see no other choice."

Cas frowned. "And you believe that I could cause them to do otherwise?"

"_Yes_," Hester said, her eyes practically shining with the strength of her intensity. Since he had carved the sigils with his own blood, Cas had had difficulty with seeing the angels' true form. But hers were visible now, her wings stretching up behind her and beating hard, sending a gust of wind that ruffled the grasses. "You stood against Naomi and survived – not completely unscathed, but alive nonetheless. And you are proof that she is wrong, and that he way is not the only way that we have to live."

Already, Cas was shaking his head. "I am no leader," he said. "I am not one who could bring my brethren to take arms." He had been the head of garrison, that much was true, but that was the extent of his ability to lead. What Hester spoke of now, it was on a far different level than anything that he had undertaken before, and it was definitely a far greater task than what he was capable of.

"Yes, you are," she insisted. He would have argued, but she tightened her hands on his shoulders, stopping him. "There is no choice, Castiel. You have to be." She looked ready to say more, then paused and tilted her head once more, frowning. "Azazel has neared the Gate," she said. "I will go to fight him now, but I will not be able to last long, particularly if Naomi chooses to bring her followers into the battle."

He understood what she was asking with those words, and the consequences if he failed her, though she did not speak it aloud. One angel would not be able to win against an entire legion of demons, even without interference from Naomi. If Cas did not sway the angels toward their side, then Hester would die.

He swallowed hard. "I'm still not sure what I'm supposed to do," he admitted softly.

He expected that admission to worry Hester, or to even make her think twice about placing her faith in someone as unworthy as him. But her expression did not waver. Instead, she looked him straight in the eye, clasping his shoulders even tighter. And she smiled.

"Inspire them, Castiel," she said. "As you inspired me."

Then, with a small puff of air and a soft whoosh of her feathers, she was gone.


	45. Part 3 Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

Sam tried to be careful, to conserve his bullets for as long as he could. That was impossible, though. The hounds were still coming after him, faster than he could run away, and the salt rounds were the only reason why they hadn't caught him already. But that wasn't going to last for much longer. They were gaining, and nothing he did was going to be enough to stop them.

He could see the pile of iron bars, scattered wildly where the angels had dropped them. If he could just reach them, then he'd be able to hide out there, where the hounds wouldn't be able to follow. That was a fool's dream, though, and he knew it. For one, they were still two hundred feet away, and the hounds would get to him before he'd be able to cover even a quarter of that distance. And more than that, it was in the wrong direction. He would have to run straight trough the crowd of demons in order to reach it, and he wasn't even going to pretend that that was possible. He'd be ripped to shreds before he made it two steps.

He looked around frantically, searching for some cover – anything at all, just something that would be enough to hold them off while he came up with a plan. He was in a clearing, though, with absolutely nothing around. No trees to climb, no houses to break into – hell, not even a rock big enough to give him some semblance of the high ground, even though he knew that an advantage like that would buy him a few seconds at the most. But the area around him was completely empty. He had nothing.

Then he pulled the trigger, and nothing happened.

He was out of bullets.

He spun and ran as fast as he could, not looking back, doing his best to ignore the growls rising up behind them. He couldn't risk any sort of distraction, anything that could slow him down for even an instant. Even so, he could still feel that they were getting closer, practically nipping at his heels. He pushed himself faster, but it wasn't going to do any good. Maybe he could outrun them for a short time, but in the long run-

Well, there was no way that Sam was going to survive.

No sooner had Sam thought that that he suddenly found himself in the passenger seat of the Impala. He gasped, both from shock and because he was struggling to catch his breath, trying to figure out what the hell had happened.

A hound barked, and Sam flinched, spinning around toward it. It was just outside his window. He could hear its claws against the glass, and more hounds with it, nails scraping against the metal.

"Well, shit," Dean said. "There goes the paintjob."

"Dean," Sam said, looking over at his brother, eyes wide, breathing still coming too hard. "What-?"

"Hester," Dean said, as if that was all of the explanation needed.

Sam just nodded, and looked around. He had almost started to relax when he'd seen his brother's face, just slightly, but now he tensed again. "Where's Cas?" he demanded. The backseat was empty, with no sign that Cas had been sitting there any time recently. If something had happened-

"He's with the angel chick," Dean said quickly, before Sam's mind could go too far in that direction. Sam looked back toward him, and he knew his brother well enough to know that Dean was worried. But it was the normal kind of worry, the kind that Sam would expect to see any time that they were in some serious shit and didn't know exactly where each other were. It didn't look like the kind of panic that Dean would be feeling if he thought that Cas was really in danger.

So Sam nodded, and again, he didn't ask any more questions. There were more important things to focus on. "Azazel has Lily," he said quickly. "He's dragging her down to the cemetery – planning on opening a gate into Hell."

"Yeah, I got that part," Dean said. "That's the reason why Hester flew off with Cas. Said something about wanting his help to stop it." And yeah, there was definitely some worry there, but Dean just shook his head, and added, "She told me that she'd send me to rescue you, then she wants us to get the hell out. We're not supposed to be involved in this battle." Dean paused then, eyeing Sam, and then the smallest smirk formed on his lips. "You think that we should listen to her?"

And it was weird, because considering everything that had happened, and everything that could happen today, there was absolutely no reason why the thought of going to face Azazel should make him smile. He didn't even know if any of them would make it out alive. If they drove to the cemetery, then they would be surrounded on all sides by demons that would be gunning for both of them, and would stop at nothing until they were dead. And this time, if either of them died, Sam was sure that their fates would be the same, in all the ways that mattered. Torture in Hell for Dean, torture in Heaven for Sam. Either way, it wasn't going to end, not until the angels and demons had molded them both into what they wanted them to be.

So it was absolutely insane for Sam to think that there was anything good about riding into this battle. But maybe it was the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush, or maybe it was just the fact that he was here in the Impala, with Dean, ready to face this down together the way that they always did. But for whatever reason, Sam couldn't help but grin back, just a little. "I say we go kill these demon bastards."

Dean nodded, his smirk shifting into something more determined, and he shifted the car into drive. "You better buckle up, Sammy," he said. "This is going to be a hard ride, and I'm not caring for you if you're stupid enough to get yourself thrown through the windshield first time we run something over."

Sam hurried to do so, just as Dean took off. He hadn't been joking about running things over. Not all of the hounds made it out of their way in time, and even though Sam couldn't see them, he could definitely feel when the car tires rolled over their bodies, and could hear the pained yelps from beneath the car. Sam just clutched the armrest tight, and ignored them. Dean always joked that the Impala was invincible, that it could take on anything, that not even being crushed by a semi could take it down forever. Guess they were about to find out how true that was.

Not even a hellhound could outpace a car, not when they really started to get up to speed, and finally they left the hounds behind completely, though they were still bumping over the uneven terrain. Still, though, the Impala was holding it together. Sam swore that he was never saying another bad thing about this car again.

Now that they were out of danger – for the moment, at least – Sam took another look at his brother. Dean's hands were clenched hard around the steering wheel, staring straight ahead with a singlehanded determination, like he couldn't focus on anything but the road in front of them. And his lips were moving.

"What are you saying?" Sam asked with a frown.

Dean stiffened, and immediately pressed his mouth closed tight, cutting himself off mid word. And for a second, Sam was sure that Dean wasn't going to say anything about it, and almost felt bad for asking. Then Dean scowled, and still didn't look over at Sam, but he said, "I'm praying. Got a problem with that?"

Those were the last words that Sam had ever expected to hear come from his brother's mouth, but he took care not to let the surprise show on his face. "You should drive faster," he said, instead of answering. "Azazel's got a good head start on us. There's no way that we can actually beat him to the Gate, but we can still try, can't we?"

"Fuck yes we can try," Dean said, and pushed the gas pedal harder. The speedometer began inching upwards toward sixty miles per hour – even Dean wasn't crazy enough to drive faster than that, not when they were off road. They probably shouldn't even be trying to go this speed, but it wasn't like they had a choice – they had to get there fast. So Sam just had to hope they didn't hit the wrong bump and end up crashing.

At this rate, it wasn't going to take them long to reach the cemetery. Sam leaned forward and opened the glove compartment, pushing aside the various maps and badges until he found what he was looking for – the long iron dagger that they stashed there, for emergencies. He drew it from its sheath, turning it over in his hand to check the weight and the balance, then nodded. Not as good as an angel blade, but it'd be better than any of the weapons that he currently had on him, at least. And it was better than nothing. He sheathed it and tucked it into his jacket, where he'd be able to draw it easily, then reached under the seat to where the extra salt rounds were hidden.

Within a minute, Sam had his gun reloaded and ready to go. Meaning that there was nothing left for him to do but sit back and wait for them to arrive.

He couldn't help but notice that Dean was once again mouthing words. Sam couldn't tell what he was saying, and he didn't try to figure it out. Whatever he had to say, that was between him and whoever it was that he was praying to. Instead, Sam just turned away, tightening his hold on his gun and bracing himself for the upcoming fight.

* * *

><p>Cas smiled slightly at the sound of Dean's voice in his head. Or, it wasn't his voice, not exactly – Cas didn't have the necessary grace to hear exactly what Dean said to him. But he could understand the meaning behind the words, enough to tell that Dean and Sam were together, and safe, and heading straight for the center of the devil's trap.<p>

Cas wasn't even surprised. Even without the prayers, he would've known that the Winchesters would not run from the fight, no matter what Hester had said about them not being involved when the battle began. But so long as Dean continued to pray, then Cas would know that the brothers were still okay, and that was the best that he could hope for.

For the moment, though, he was unable to focus on Dean's prayers, no matter how much he worried about the two of them going off into danger together. Any second now, the angels would begin to arrive, and Cas still didn't have the slightest clue what he was going to say to them.

Cas drew a deep breath, and straightened his shoulders. He tried to imagine himself as an impressive figure, strong enough to inspire a group of angels into following him, and to deserve their allegiance.

He did not feel that way. At once, he was all too aware of the dirt that stained the front of his trench coat, and that he was wearing one of Dean's tee shirts, which hung oddly around his form. Both of those things were human worries. The angels cared nothing for the state of the vessel, and only dressed themselves in impressive outfits when they were appearing to humans and wanted to command respect. Even then, he was certain that most of the angels didn't know what an impressive garment would be. He could appear before them in rags, or in no clothes at all, and they would not think any less of him.

It was not the clothes that bothered him, though, not directly. But he thought that his physical presence was a good representation of what his true form must look like, if only he were capable of seeing it. No longer did he feel to be as tall as the Chrysler building. Instead, he felt weak, shrunk down until he was certain that the other angels' true forms would tower over his own.

And more than that, he was suddenly horribly aware of the fact that his powers had deserted him, to the point where he was not even capable of fixing the stains on his clothing. Perhaps his physical appearance would not matter, but that, surely, would give the angels pause. They would see his weakened state and realize that he was not meant to be a leader.

But he could not dwell on those thoughts, because all at once, the angels appeared.

There were hundreds of them, stretching back far into the distance, surrounding Cas on all sides, neatly circling the owner of this Heaven to ensure that he had room to fly his kite undisturbed. Some of the angels were in their vessels, with at least fifty or sixty human forms watching him. The rest came as themselves, though he could not see much of them, just a glimmer in the sky, or a flick of a wing in the corner of his eye, revealing that they were there, but beyond what his weakened grace could comprehend.

"Castiel," an angel said, stepping forward. Cas could not see his true form, but he recognized the man that he wore, the same vessel that he had used back when Cas had been in command of his garrison, and this angel had been sent to Earth under his command.

"Inias," Cas said, nodding his head slowly.

"Is it-" Inias asked, then shook his head. He did not finish his question. Instead, he stepped forward, hand outstretched as if he meant to touch Cas. He should not need to, but Cas kept still, allowing the angel to place his fingers along the side of his face as if testing to see if Cas were really there. Inias lingered for a moment, disbelief etched onto his face. Then he cleared his throat and stepped back. "You were dead," he said.

"I was not," Cas said immediately, and turned to look around at all of the angels which surrounded him. Then he drew himself up, making himself into the most impressive figure that he could, for all the angels would care about his body language. And he said, as clearly as he could, "I was human."

He could feel the shock almost as a tangible thing, rippling through the room. Cas didn't spend long watching their reactions. Most of the angels – the ones that he recognized despite his diminished grace, at least – were from what used to be his garrison. Hester had mentioned that Inias had taken over as leader after Cas had fallen, and Cas could see it confirmed in the way that the vesseled angels were all aligning themselves toward him, like they were looking to him for instructions.

Cas did not want the angels to fight for him simply because Inias told them to. He hoped – maybe foolishly – that they would be able to make their own choice. That he would make them think, the way that Hester thought him capable of doing. Still, though, bringing Inias to his side would be the way to begin.

"Human," Inias repeated, voice stiff with disbelief.

"Yes," Cas said, firm enough to dispel any doubt over whether he meant what he said. "My grace was cut from my being, for my own protection. I fell to Earth and took this vessel in order to avoid Naomi's detection." He didn't mention that he hadn't given his grace up willingly – that he had been nearly paralyzed with fear during the few seconds that he knew what was happening, before his memories had been stripped from him as well. He didn't think that that particular detail would inspire much confidence in his abilities.

Inias' mouth was partly open – he always had been more human than some of the other angels, when it came to the way that his vessel reacted to his emotions. For a moment, he didn't seem to know what to do. Then all at once his mouth snapped closed, and his eyes narrowed. "You rebelled," he said.

Cas nodded. "Yes." There was no point in denying it, not when they knew the truth already. And more than that, he didn't wish to deny it – to do so would be to imply that he had done the wrong thing, and he would never say that.

"You betrayed us," Inias continued, sharper this time.

Now, Cas shook his head. "No, brother," he said, and he was the one to reach out toward Inias this time. "Naomi has betrayed us. I was trying to right the wrongs that she has committed."

Inias stepped back, out of Cas' reach, and Cas let his hand fall limply to his side. But Inias made no move to capture him, the way that Cas half feared that he would. Instead, he was listening to Cas with obvious suspicion written into every inch of his vessel, but he was listening nonetheless. That was something, at least.

Still, though, he sensed that this peace was fragile. If he hesitated, or if he said the wrong thing, he would not be surprised if Inias would turn against him. He had to speak fast, while he still held their attention.

He clasped his hands together, and made a choice.

"Naomi intends to aid the demons in opening a gate into Hell, and allowing Lilith to escape and break the seals," he said, not once taking his eyes off of Inias. His heart beat hard in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears, and he knew that this would be the moment that determined their course. Inias could listen, and ask for Cas to tell him more. Or he could just as easily turn against Cas for even daring to suggest that Naomi would do such a thing.

Hester never would have brought Cas here if she had thought that he would be placed in danger, but she did not know everything. She already had more faith in him than he truly deserved. Perhaps she was also wrong about the danger that he was in, or about the angels' willingness to think for themselves.

He did not dare to imagine the consequences that he would face if this were the case.

"What?" Inias asked, which wasn't acceptance, but it wasn't an outright denial, either.

Cas decided to press forward, to take it a step farther. "She intends on beginning the Apocalypse, allowing Lucifer to rise from the Cage where our Father trapped him all those millenniums ago. Her plan will undo the sacrifices of all of our brethren who died to force Lucifer into this Cage. If she succeeds, it all will have been for nothing." That was less of a concern for him – he cared more about the deaths of the humans during the battle, and the fact that Sam and Dean would be used as puppets in their plan. But he knew how the angels would react. There was not a single angel who had escaped the battle with Lucifer unscathed. Even the few who were lucky enough to never be injured had felt the gaping loss that came with the angels' deaths, the hole in the wavelengths that had once been filled by the words of their fallen brethren.

And he knew that it would make them pause long enough for him to add, "And the battle between Michael and Lucifer will destroy most – if not all – of the world. Millions of humans would be killed, after our Father trusted us with their protection." He paused, waiting, aware of the force of hundreds of angels' attention firmly locked on his form. He had to take a breath to steady himself, but he did not allow himself to waver. "If we allow them to come to harm, then we are no better than Lucifer, and we would deserve the same punishment that he received when he was first cast into Hell."

Utter silence. Cas could hear it stretching around them, sharper than any noise could have been. Twenty feet away, the man with the kite hummed softly to himself, unaware of the conversation happening around him.

"Strong words, brother," Inias said softly.

Cas held his gaze. "I know," he said. His voice was steady. "And I mean them."

Inias shook his head slightly, not breaking eye contact with Cas. "You can't expect us to believe you," he said. "Not if you don't give us a reason to."

"You know that Naomi must be working with the demons," Cas said. "There is no other reason why she would lift the railroad tracks to allow the them access to the Gates of Hell." Inias opened his mouth to protest, but said nothing. Cas waited, and when the silence began to once again stretch on, he said, "Provide me with another reason why Naomi would allow the demons in, and give them access to such a dangerous location, if she was not working with them in some way."

Inias did not answer.

"She could've been threatened," another angel suggested. Cas turned toward the voice, and though he was sure that he must know the angel who had spoken, the female vessel was unfamiliar to him. "The demons forced her into it."

Cas was about to argue, but then he stopped, and looked back at Inias. "What do you think of that suggestion?"

He held his breath. Not that he truly needed to breathe – it was an instinct more than anything, leftover from the days that his body had required oxygen for survival – but he had grown accustomed enough to the flow of air through his chest that he noticed the lack of it after only a few seconds, and had to force himself to resume breathing normally. If Inias agreed with the other angel's assumption, then Cas didn't know what he could say next, or how to possibly prove Naomi's guilt.

Inias was quiet for a long time, longer than Cas would have liked. It was difficult to hold himself back, but Cas forced himself to remain silent, giving Inias time enough to come to whatever conclusion he wished. It was clear that he wasn't the only one to grow restless – though the vesseled angels mostly did not move, he could feel gusts of wind as those without a vessel flapped their wings, almost impatiently.

"No," Inias said, finally. "I don't believe that Naomi would allow herself to be put into this position. No demon would be strong enough to trap her, nor bend her to their will. Not if she didn't wish to be bent."

Cas let out a long whoosh of breath, barely able to stop his shoulders from slumping with pure relief. Instead, he kept his head up, forcing himself to maintain a dignified stance. "You believe me, then."

Inias nodded, then shook his head, then paused, a frown forming on his lips. "Why did you rebel?"

That question was simple enough to answer. "The first seal of Lucifer's cage isthe Righteous Man is broken being broken in Hell," Cas said. "And Dean Winchester was forced to sell his soul to a demon. If he dies, he will be tortured in Hell until the seal breaks, and then there will be little left to prevent Lucifer's rise."

"And how do we know that we can trust his words?" another angel burst out, stepping forward, the eyes of her vessel flashing with anger. This vessel, Cas recognized.

"Esther-" Cas said softly, reaching out toward her.

She slapped his hand away. "I refuse to believe that Naomi would betray us, any of us," she said, practically snarling the words. "She and the archangels have led Heaven peacefully for as long as we have ever known. They follow our Father's orders. She would never harm us, I know it."

Cas swallowed, and though he knew that he should worry about the effect that her words could have on swaying the angels away from his side, all he could feel for her was an overwhelming pity. Perhaps it was the human side of him, which was tricked by the fact that she wore the vessel of a young girl. It made him feel as though he needed to protect her, despite knowing logically that she was the same age as him, and just as strong. "Oh, sister," he said softly. "She has hurt us, every one of us. You don't remember it, but she has."

"What do you mean?" Inias demanded, stepping forward before Esther had the chance to say anything more. "Why wouldn't we remember?"

Cas hesitated. He knew how this would sound. Right now, he was close to swaying them toward him, but his hold on their loyalty was still fragile. This could tip them firmly onto his side, or it could isolate himself from them completely.

There was no way to tell which way it would fall until he spoke the words, so he braced himself, and came out with it. "She has been rewriting our minds," he said bluntly, knowing that there was no point in being gentle. "Changing our programing to make us into what she wants us to be, and erasing our memories so that we have no reason to suspect what she is doing." He swallowed, but it was impossible to tell how the angels were reacting, so there was nothing he could do but press on. "She has made us mindlessly obedient to her wishes, forcing us to not see what is happening in Heaven. But I refuse to let her rewrite me any longer. I make my own choices now, and for that, she has sentenced me to die." He paused, then added, "She has not been as successful with that as she would have liked to be."

"Castiel," Inias said, and let the word hang in the air, as if he couldn't possible think of a way to finish his thought. "You know what you are implying."

"I do," Cas said solemnly. "And I know that it is the truth."

"And why should we believe his word?" Esther snapped. "It's him against Naomi, and I know where my allegiance lies. He's the only one who claims that this is happening, and I say that there is no reason to trust him."

And angels shifted. Cas could practically see the way that messages traveled through their minds. Angel radio, Dean had called it, and there was no way for Cas to know what they were saying. They must have realized that Cas was no longer connected to their wavelengths, and had been speaking aloud only as a courtesy to him. Most of the communication was happening beyond his perception, though, and he suddenly wondered what words had been exchanged during the moments that he had thought of as silences. Surely they were discussing his words through the wavelengths, and he had no way of learning what they had been saying.

Then a voice cut through his mind, as clearly as Cas had once heard Dean Winchester's name spoken in his thoughts. _Actually, that's where you'd all be wrong. Except Castiel, of course. Then again, can't say that this is exactly a new phenomenon._

Cas recognized the voice, of course, and immediately turned and squinted toward the sky. He hoped that he might be able to see a flash of wings, or a trace of light to indicate the speaker's presence, but there was nothing. Still, though, Cas could sense the presence.

And a second later, Balthazar spoke again.

_It'd been going on for ages, really. Been getting rather old, to be honest. There's only so many times you can watch your brethren lose their minds before it starts to get repetitive._

"What are you saying?" Inias asked, at the same moment that Cas asked, voice heavy with disbelief, "You knew?"

_Imagine it,_ Balthazar continued. _You've all had a moment when you've wanted to rebel, haven't you? Now, I'm sure that just thinking about it horrifies you, doesn't it? But focus on that moment. Really dig your teeth into it, if you'll pardon the human expression._

For a moment, none of the angels responded.

Then one flinched, her vessel's hands clenching and unclenching spastically, a look of horror spreading across her face, mouth falling open.

_You're remembering it, aren't you? Why you wanted to rebel. And what happened to make sure that you didn't. See, that's the ticket. The key is finding the weak spots, the fake memories that replace the ones of her scooping your thoughts out. That's where you need to focus._

And gradually, similar looks of horror began spreading from angel to angel, almost as though a wave were passing through them. The wind picked up speed as the unvesseled angels reacted similarly, the "angel radio" suddenly strong enough that Cas could sense it as a buzzing in his head, even if the words themselves eluded him.

_Very good!_ Balthazar praised them. _Or, actually quite horrible, isn't it? Does need to happen, though._

"I-I-" Inias stammered, reaching one hand up to press his palm flat against the side of his head. "There was a machine," he finally said. "I remember the feel of it. I-" He said nothing more.

None of them appeared to have recovered yet, but Cas could not risk allowing them to wait any longer. "Will you enter this battle now?" he asked, turning in a circle to look toward them all. "Will you join me in protecting humanity, and in ensuring that Naomi can never harm us again?"

For one single moment, none of the angels moved.

Then all of them fell to their knees, moving almost as one, with no deviation in their movements. Cas could not see them, but he was certain that the unvesseled angels were taking similar actions. It was a gesture of respect, one awarded to archangels and Naomi, but no one else. The sight was staggering, making Cas feel as though his head were swimming.

"Castiel," Inias said. "We will follow you."

"No," Cas said faintly, his voice weak from disbelief. He shook his head. "I don't want you to follow me. The point is that you should think for yourselves, make your own decision."

"Yes," Inias said. "And we wish to do as you say." Around him, heads began to nod. Not even Esther protested.

"But-" Cas protested.

_Oh, let them have their fun, Cassie. Don't be such a spoilsport._

Balthazar's words surprised a smile out of Cas, and then slowly, he nodded.

"Alright," he said, mentally shifting himself into the commander that he had been during the war against Lucifer, focusing his head on strategy. He didn't know what was happening on Earth, though, or how many angels or demons would be involved. Without that information, there was no strategy that he could tell them, except, "You know where the devil's trap is, and how to find the demon Azazel. I need you to go there at once, and aid Hester in fighting him. She will be your commanding officer in this battle. You follow her orders, not mine."

Hundreds of heads nodded. Hundreds of wings flapped harder. Then, all at once, the angels were gone.

Cas took a breath, and felt his hands shake as he stared around the Heaven, empty now except for the man. Despite the faith that Hester had claimed to have in him, he still hadn't truly believed that it would work. The fact that somehow, the angels had agreed to stand with him left him unsteady with disbelief.

_Brother._

Perhaps he wasn't so alone, after all.

Cas turned, regarding the angel in front of him. Now that there were not so many angels around, it was easier to focus his eyes, forcing himself to see the true form that stood in front of him. The being was hazy, barely visible to his eyes, but he could see enough of it to tell that it was undeniably Balthazar.

He smiled, just as Balthazar continued, _I'm glad to see that you're not dead. Of course, I already knew that – you're the one angel that I can count on to not roll over and die when Naomi wants you to. Still, though, nice to see for myself._

"Yes," Cas said, glancing down at his body. "I am also pleased to be alive." Then he looked up, looking Balthazar in the eyes as best he could, considering what little of the angel's form that he could see. "You don't seem surprised, though."

For a moment, Balthazar didn't respond. Then, _You know, I would've thought that you'd want to enjoy not being dead for a while, instead of racing headfirst into some plan that's just going to make Naomi even more determined to kill you._

Cas snorted, and shook his head. "Naomi would want to kill me no matter what I did," he said. "At least thing way, there is a chance that we may stop her before she gets the chance." Then he tilted his head, regarding Balthazar closely. "I can hear you, even without a vessel."

_Yes, well, it's not exactly fun having to bully my way through the block that Naomi placed on your mind. It works, though._ A moment's hesitation, then Balthazar added, _Besides, Cassie, it's not as though this is my first time playing around in that head of yours, tweaked the wavelengths a bit._

For a moment, Cas only stared. Then the realization dawned on him. "You were the one who blocked me from hearing what the angels said, when I was human."

He waited for a response, but it never came. He decided to interpret that silence as a yes.

"Hester said that you were devastated by my death," Cas said softly.

_Well, yes, I had to be, didn't I? I wasn't about to let Naomi know that something wasn't right._

"So you did know," Cas said, and frowned. "Why did you cut me off?"

Angels didn't typically show much emotion when they were in their true forms – or at all, in some cases – but Cas could still practically hear the derisive tone to Balthazar's voice. _You think that it would be a good thing for Naomi to realize that a human was listening to us and go poking around? Because that sounded to me like the kind of thing that we wanted to avoid. I'm sure Hester would've done the same if she'd calmed down enough to think it through._ There was a pause, and then Cas was sure that if Balthazar had had a vessel at that moment, it would've been shrugging. _I did try to let some info slip past when I could. If this Dean Winchester was important enough for you to leave Heaven over, I figured you at least deserved a few updates on what was happening with him. Easier said than done, though, I'm afraid. Especially since most of those messages were things that I wasn't even supposed to be hearing._

Cas' throat suddenly felt tight, and he would have reached out for his friend, if his friend had had a body to reach out towards. Instead, there was nothing that Cas could do except nod, and hope that his sincerity came across as he said, "Thank you."

_You've done the same for me,_ Balthazar said, almost dismissively. _Of course, I doubt that you remember any of that._

Which brought Cas to the other question that he had to ask. "Balthazar," he said, then hesitated, before saying, "How did you know what to say, or how to make the angels remember?"

The silence stretched on for a long time – almost too long – and then Balthazar finally answered. _It's simple. I've done it to you often enough to know the tricks._ Cas blinked, and tried to think of a response, but he felt as though he could do nothing but stand there and stare. _You don't remember it, do you? That's exactly why I eventually gave up on the whole thing. All it meant was that Naomi would rewrite you yet again, and it did begin to seem rather pointless. Of course, it was also better for me if Naomi never realized that I knew. And I'm sorry, Cas, but I'm the one thing that I'm never going to risk for your sake. You understand._

"I do," Cas said slowly. "I would never ask you to risk your life for me, Balthazar."

_Good, because I'm not going to._

Cas began to nod, then paused, tilting his head and studying Balthazar again. "But you did," he finally said.

Balthazar didn't respond to that, and after a moment, Cas said, "You said that you wouldn't risk revealing that you knew the truth of what Naomi was doing to the angels, but that is precisely what you just did. If you truly didn't want the risk, then you would have kept silent."

Another long pause. Then, _Well, yes, I suppose so._ Balthazar was silent for a second after that, and Cas could imagine the way that his friend had frown the last time that they'd both been vesseled at the same time, and couldn't help but picture that same expression now, despite knowing that Balthazar no longer bared the slightest resemblance to that man. _That's alright, though. I don't intend to be around when the dust clears._

Cas frowned. "You're leaving Heaven," he said, not making it a question.

_And you're not going to stop me._

Cas immediately shook his head. "I would not try to stop you," he said. "You've done enough. But there is one thing that I want to ask of you before you go." He waited, then decided to simply take the silence as an invitation, and continued, "I need you to take me to the battlefield."

He hadn't even managed to finish the request before Balthazar was cutting him off. _You realize what a stupid idea that is, don't you? Wait, no, sorry, of course you don't. If you did, then you never would have suggested it in the first place._

"I have to go, Balthazar."

_No, you really don't. Let's be honest, Castiel, I'm not even sure if I would call you an angel anymore. You're practically human now, and you expect to play a part in a Heavenly battle?_

Cas just shook his head insistently. "I don't have a choice," he said. "My family is down there."

_You really think that the angels need your help?_

"Not the angels," Cas said firmly. "The Winchesters."

He could still feel Dean's prayers in the back of his mind. From what Cas could tell, he and Sam were nearing the cemetery now, and it would not be long before they would be in the thick of the battle. Cas was not going to leave them alone, no matter what the risk to himself may be.

For a second, Balthazar said nothing. When a response finally came, Cas couldn't tell what the emotion in Balthazar's voice was, whether amusement or disgust or some strange combination. _You really are human now, aren't you?_ It was hard for Cas to tell, but he swore that Balthazar was sighing. Then, _Things can never just be simple, can they?_

"No," Cas answered at once. "No, they can't be."

Cas waited after that, staring ahead of him into the nothingness where he could still barely sense Balthazar's presence. Dean's prayers were louder now that he didn't have to force himself to ignore them, and he could feel the exact moment when he and Sam entered the battle, in the way that Dean's prayers suddenly spiked in intensity, and Cas could practically feel Dean's fear radiating through his mind. It was all he could do not to snap at Balthazar to just hurry up and take him down there now, before anything could happen to the brothers.

Then, at last, the answer came.

_Well, alright, then,_ Balthazar finally said. _Let's go drag your boy toy out of the warzone, shall we?_


	46. Part 3 Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Dean swallowed, his hands clenching around the steering wheel as he stared out the front windshield of the Impala. "Hey, Sammy?" he asked, aiming for a casual voice, and failing completely. "You see all that?"

"The demons?" Sam asked. "Yeah, I see them."

"Okay," Dean said, and swallowed again, but nodded. "Okay, good. Just making sure that we're on the same page here."

It was a scene like something out of the worst of his hallucinations. Skeletal demons, black oozing masses, mingling with humans who'd been possessed and dragged into this battle. He could hear the barks, and see where the air rippled as hellhounds ran by.

And he could see the bodies.

There were humans all around, charging each other with angel blades. He couldn't tell who they were – angels or demons or hell, something else entirely. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if it was all of the above. There was one thing he was sure of, though – that all of them were inside of humans, and it was the humans that were dying the most in all of the carnage.

"Dean," Sam said, reaching over to grab his arm. "Are you okay? I mean, what are you seeing?"

Huh. That was the question, right? And honestly, Dean didn't have the slightest idea how he was supposed to answer it. After all, he couldn't exactly say for sure that he was hallucination, not when they'd come here knowing that there would be demons crawling around everywhere. But then, which ones were real and which ones were all made up in his head? Wasn't like there was an easy answer to that one.

So he just didn't answer it. "Let's go," he said, reaching over and grabbing the door handle, and turning around to check that Sam was doing the same. They'd made it within maybe fifty feet of the crypt in the center of the cemetery, but the bodies had piled up high enough that the Impala couldn't move an inch more, no matter what he tried. Like it or not, they were going to have to go on foot.

Judging by the look on Sam's face, the answer was "not", but he didn't back down. Instead, he clicked the safety off his gun and nodded firmly. "Just... be careful," he said.

"Got it," Dean said, and hesitated just the slightest moment before saying, "You, too, Sammy."

Then they both threw open the doors and took off running for the crypt.

It was even worse out here than it was in the Impala. At least while they were in the car, nothing had gotten in to them – he thought that Hester must've spelled it, or something, to keep the demons from busting down the doors. Now, though, they didn't have anything to keep them safe except themselves.

Sam let off gunshot after gunshot, taking down anything that came anywhere close to him. Dean felt a hellhound right behind him – he swore he could feel it, its breath hot on his neck and its bones pressing around his back. He spun around, swinging the blade straight through where it was standing. It should have sunk straight into the hound's flesh. Instead, the blade moved through empty air.

He froze just a second too long, standing there trying to figure out whether it had disappeared, or if it had never been there in the first place. He was so focused on the missing hound that he almost didn't see the demon until it was too late.

It was Sam's gunshot that warned him, and the demon's scream as the salt struck her in the center of her back. Dean twisted just in time, plunging the angel blade into her stomach and doing his best not to stare at the girl that he was killing as the lights flashed beneath her skin, and then both vessel and demon slumped over, dead.

"Thanks," Dean gasped, looking over at his brother.

Sam didn't respond. There was nothing to say.

At that same moment, a body fell from the sky.

It plummeted to the ground, landing barely six feet in front of them. Her body was spread-eagle on the ground, eyes closed and legs bent at unnatural angles. There was an angel blade in her hand, and dark burn marks on the ground behind her, outstretched in a way that meant that they'd definitely been left by her wings. Dean had seen marks like that on the ground while they'd been driving here, and now he could see a whole lot more of them, overlapping across the ground in all directions. Now, he knew what caused them.

The girl couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old. Definitely too young to make a choice to become an angel's vessel.

"Shit," Dean said softly. Then- "Sammy, lookout!"

Sam spun, letting off three shots at once, but it was barely enough to hold the demon back. It was strong. Salt didn't wound it much.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Dean snapped, and practically shoved the handle of Cas' blade into Sam's hands. Sam looked surprised for just a second, then closed his grip around it. A second later, he'd sunk the blade straight into the chest of the demon coming at him – an old man, of all things.

The kid's body was still on the ground. More demons were still coming after them. Dean didn't think, he just threw himself at the dead angel, ripping the blade from her fist and rolling over onto his back just in time to stick it into a demon who was trying to pounce on him. And it made him feel dirty as hell, stealing from the corpse of some little girl who shouldn't even have been here, but he needed a blade or he'd be joining her in the afterlife. Or, scratch that – he sure as fuck hoped that this little kid wasn't down where he'd end up if he died here.

At least he was only stealing from the dick angel who'd decided it was okay to possess a kid, and not from the girl herself. That made him feel better about it. Maybe.

He kept fighting.

Time blurred after that. Dean fought his way back to his feet, blade tight in hand, ready to take on any demons who came close. Sometimes they were real. Sometimes they were hallucinations. A few of them were so deformed that he couldn't tell whether the real demon actually looked that way, or if they were completely ordinary looking and his mind was just fucking them up. Didn't really matter, though.

He saw one glimpse of Sammy. They were thirty feet apart, and Dean didn't know how that had happened, but suddenly the distance was there, and there were too many demons swarming between them for Dean to try to get closer. He was still going to try, though. He had to reach Sammy, stay by his side, keep the demons from harming him.

Then Sam turned, just a little, and his face abruptly morphed into the kind of twisted creature that Dean'd been stabbing on sight ever since he'd gotten here.

Dean froze, and it was lucky that he'd been trained in keeping hold of his weapons, otherwise he might've done something stupid like drop his blade. But he couldn't shake the images that flashed through his head – Sam, his face twisted because of Dean's fucked-up brain. Dean seeing him and thinking he was a demon.

Dean killing his brother in the middle of the fight because he couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't.

It hadn't happened. He had to keep reminding himself of that. It hadn't happened. It wasn't going to happen. He'd know his brother anyway. It wouldn't matter how much the hallucinations messed with his head, there was still no way that they could ever make him do anything like that.

The images wouldn't leave his head.

A hellhound got him.

He swore, shouting whatever random words flashed through his head at the top of his lungs. And he got the blade jammed down into the hound's brain, but his left arm felt like it was on fire, blood soaking into the sleeve of his leather jacket. Definitely was going to need stitches. And there was no way in hell he would be fighting with that arm any time soon.

It was okay. He'd use his good arm, he could make it work. So what if the odds were already pretty sucky even without stacking this on top? Didn't mean that he wouldn't be able to do it.

Maybe it was better if he didn't stay next to Sam, though. He didn't know which one terrified him worse – the thought of Sam getting hurt or worse because Dean hadn't been beside him, or the thought that Dean could be the one to-

No.

He kept praying to Cas. It was more of an instinct thing now. He wasn't trying to do it, wasn't even thinking about what prayers he sent Cas' way. The message itself didn't actually matter. What was important was that Dean kept saying them, so that Cas would be able to find them again. Because Cas was definitely on his way, Dean didn't have any doubts about that.

He also didn't know what Hester had been playing at, but whatever her plan was, he was pretty certain that it worked. The sky was alight with angels, bright enough that Dean didn't even dare to look up or else he's frickin' burn his eyes out. He just had to keep his head down and guess that they were there. It was only the wingprints that let him know for sure.

This wasn't just about the demons anymore. He was pretty sure the angels were at war.

Which was great and all, but it definitely didn't make things any easier for them. Especially since he honestly didn't care what went down in Heaven. All he wanted to do was find Sam and Cas, gank Azazel, and then get the hell out of here before one of them ended up being the one who got ganked.

That was when Dean saw him.

Azazel.

Dean took off running.

* * *

><p>Balthazar set Cas down in the center of the battlefield, just as promised. Cas turned, intent on saying thank you, but his friend was already gone. Maybe Balthazar had never appeared here at all, and had just dropped Cas and then immediately disappeared. Cas supposed that he couldn't blame the angel if that was the case. The fighting had just begun, and already death was heavy around them.<p>

This was no place for humans. Cas had been here for only a few seconds, and already this was clear. The fighting was too intense. Demons fought angels, ripping apart their wings and tearing screams of pain from their lips or wavelengths. Cas could feel them echoing through him, strong enough to make him unsteady of his feet, like their pain was his own, something physical that had turned against him. He shuddered, and desperately hoped that this was the price of remaining partially angelic. He didn't want to even imagine Dean or Sam hearing these horrors. Maybe humans were immune.

A voice in Cas' head – his own, this time, and no one else's – whispered that there was no point in trying to protect them from the horrors. There was no doubt that the Winchesters had already seen their fair share, even in just the few minutes of the battle that had passed since the angels had joined Hester's side. It would be a miracle if they were even still alive.

Cas shoved those thoughts away. He could still hear Dean's prayers, so he knew that Dean must be unharmed. And Dean felt pain, and terror, and confusion, and a million of other swirling emotions that Cas could sense as clearly as his own, but it was nothing like the agony that he would experience if anything were to happen to his brother. Sam was alive, too, then.

Unless Sam had been killed, and in the confusion of the battle, Dean had yet to find out.

Cas would not think of those things.

He was running. There were dead angels scattered over the ground. Some of them had left vessels behind, while others left no sign except for their wingprints and their blades.

Cas bent and grabbed the closest blade, then took off running toward where he could sense Dean's presence. It was the other side of the battlefield. Cas wasn't sure how he would get there, or how long it would take, but he would not let anything get in his way.

There were five angels lying dead in front of him, their wingprints overlapping until you couldn't tell where one ended and one began. He wasn't even sure if there were only five angels, or if there had been more, unvesseled angels that he couldn't see, their prints lost among the others until it was impossible to tell that they had even been there. But there were four vessels piled together where they had all fallen. Four of them, Cas recognized as Naomi's henchmen, angels who had often held him down and strapped him into Naomi's chair in the past. The fifth was Inias.

Cas' throat was tight, but he did not allow himself to stop. He had known that casualties would occur. He was braced for it.

It was still painful, though, seeing his brother lying dead before him. Cas hadn't expected it to hurt quite as much as it did. He could only hope that elsewhere, the ratio was the same, and that their side was killing more of Naomi's followers than they were losing.

He kept running, pausing only when a demon got in his way, and only long enough to take care of the problem. The angels did not bother him. He did not know if those that were on his side were keeping Naomi's henchmen away, or if the angels just had more important things to worry about than someone as human as him. Either way, they continued to die around him, but he was able to move with relative ease.

He felt it the moment that Dean spotted Azazel.

"No," he shouted, despite knowing that it would do no good. He couldn't help it. Dean was injured – Cas could feel that, too, even if he didn't know where, or the extent of Dean's injury. But he knew that now, Azazel would be too strong for him. Dean would not be able to win. Cas had to make it to his side as soon as he could, before he came to harm.

Cas ran faster.

* * *

><p>Azazel had almost reached the crypt. Lily was beside him, not trying to fight. Her head was down, the Colt clutched tightly in both hands, her shoulders hunched and her entire body radiating fear.<p>

Dean had almost reached Azazel. Just a few more steps, and he'd be close enough to launch himself forward. Azazel didn't seem to have noticed him, and the angel blade was tight in his hand. He was ready. Everything that they'd been fighting for – Mom's death, Jessica's, Sam's demon blood, the car accident, possessing Dad – all of it was going to end now.

A few more seconds, and he was going to have Azazel at the end of his blade.

A few more seconds, and everything would be over.

A few more-

He didn't see the demon until its arms were around his waist, and the angel blade was ripped from his hand. A second later, a blade was pressed against his throat. It was sharp enough that he could already feel it cutting into his skin, just slightly. He couldn't tell if it was a regular blade, or an angel one – maybe even the same blade that he'd been wielding a second earlier. It was impossible to tell, and at this rate, he didn't think that it was much going to matter.

Azazel turned around, and the smirk on his face made Dean want to stab him twice. The bastard had known he was coming.

"Nice attempt," Azazel said, clapping his hands together slowly, like this was a frickin' opera or something. "Really, you came close. Not quite good enough."

He looked past Dean, toward the demon that held him, and nodded once. And fuck, this was it. Dean was squirming, but the demon was stronger than he was, and it held the blade close enough to him that he wouldn't be able to move much without slitting his own throat.

From somewhere behind him, he thought that he heard Sammy screaming. It sounded like his name. Dean's hands clenched, but he couldn't even turn back to look. He just had to hope that Sam was freaking out on his account, and not because he'd gotten hurt. At the very least, he wanted one of them to make it out of this mess alive.

Best case scenario, Sam would get here in time to make it so that neither of them bit the dust tonight. Sam's voice had been far away, though. Or maybe it'd just sounded that was because the battle was raging so loudly around them. Either way, Dean didn't have much hope that his life was going to be saved any time soon.

The demon didn't slit his throat, though.

Instead, a second passed, and then he felt the blade stab through his leg.

He screamed. He heard it in a distant sort of way, his mind already separating him from the pain. He'd gotten good at that. He'd had a lot of reason to get good at that.

This wasn't his body that felt like it was burning with- holy fuck that hurt, oh god, but he kept pushing it away. Tried to imagine it was someone else. Some other poor bastard who'd just gotten stabbed. The demon let him go, but he couldn't stand. He hit the ground hard, and panted for breath, clutching at his leg.

Deep. Definitely fucking deep, but he had to focus. He grabbed his leg, pressing his palm against the wound, hissing at the pain of it but not letting it stop him. He'd had worse. Remember the chupacabre when was twenty? That'd messed him up way worse- The hellhound bite just a little over a week ago, that'd been fucking bad. This was nothing. He could handle it.

His brain didn't want to believe it, apparently. Either it was hallucinations or blood loss – no, had to be hallucinations, he hadn't lost enough blood yet to be going loco, it was definitely just in his head – but the world was swirling. He thought he was going to be sick. He closed his eyes.

But he definitely still heard it when Azazel said, "I think that this could be a learning experience for you, Lily."

"What do you mean?" she asked. Her voice was small. Shaking.

"I mean that he's going to die one way or another," Azazel said. "And you're going to be the one to kill him."

Dean forced his eyes open, ignoring the way that the world tilted. It was dark, like he was seeing it through a film. Shadows twisting everywhere. But he could still see it, the angel blade on the ground just a couple feet away. Close enough that all he would have to do was stretch out his arm and grab it.

His leg wasn't going to last long, but he could stand, if he needed to. Maybe. He would make himself do it, whether it was possible or not. And Azazel wasn't far. Close enough that it would just take one good charge to get him, and-

"What?" Lily asked.

"Think about it this way," Azazel said, his voice almost soothing now. "He's dying no matter what you do. You're not going to be able to stop it, Lily. How would you rather it happened? It could be you, and painless, or I could set my hellhounds on him and watch as he gets ripped to shreds. The choice is yours."

"I-I," Lily stammered. "No."

But her voice was wavering, and shit, Dean didn't trust her. She was going to do it, he could hear it in her voice, no way would she last. And if she didn't, it'd be a hell of a lot worse. One girl he could take. Okay, he couldn't touch her, but he could find a way. Maybe. Probably not, but he could try, at least. Hellhounds, though. No fucking way.

If they came, he was dead. Meaning that he had to act now, before something got to him first.

He'd get one shot. He lifted his head, trying to see where Azazel was, figure out exactly where he should stab-

And froze.

It wasn't Azazel.

It was Sam, getting his heart ripped out, staring down at the empty hole in his chest with a shocked expression, like he couldn't even feel the pain of it.

Blink, and it was Cas. Dean could see his wings now. Bare. Featherless, like they'd been stripped. Bloody. Cas was clutching them, screaming.

Blink, and it was nothing at all, like he was alone in the dark. Or blind. He could still hear the screams and the pain and the attacks, still knew he had to be in the same exact spot, but he couldn't see it.

His sight came back. More torture. Sam's skin peeling. Cas being killed. Dad's guts spilling out, Bobby with his neck bent, back to Cas again, his skin blackened and burned-

Dean was screaming harder now. He couldn't even see the blade now, tried to remember where it was so that he could grab it, but the memory was gone. None of this could be happening, and he could say that over and over to himself but it was way too fucking real, how could it not be happening, and the logical part of his brain could keep spouting that all it wanted, the rest of him wasn't listening.

"See that?" Azazel asked. Dean tried to focus on the voice, use it to track his location, but it was impossible to tell. The bastard could be anywhere. "He's half crazed," Azazel continued. "Hallucinating. Who knows what he thinks he sees right now? I'd be surprised if he even knew what was happening right now. I bet he's still going to feel it when he the hellhounds get their teeth in him, don't you think? Unless you want to keep that from happening."

Lily was whining, high-pitched noises somehow audible even over everything else that was happening around them. Dean also heard the footsteps.

Then her hands were on his chest, and he was breathing hard. She hadn't touched his skin yet, just his clothes, but any second-

"You can't see?" she asked softly.

Dean tried to focus, to snap his mind back to where it had to be, to get his eyes back on what was actually happening. He thought it worked. The demon crouching over him wavered like a mirage, then faded away. And there was Lily in its place, staring down at him with that terrified look on her face.

Their eyes met, and locked. He saw the surprise cross her face when he didn't look away, when he remained focused on her face. She glanced over her shoulder, watching Azazel, biting at her lower lip. He could see her wavering, and maybe this was his only chance. But he didn't know what to do against a girl he couldn't risk touching, not when she could kill him so easily.

"Please," he said. The word burned his throat. He'd sworn he was never gonna beg for his life, never gonna be that pathetic. But maybe it would work with her. She hadn't made up her mind yet, there was still a chance he could shift it.

He saw the exact moment that a decision was reached. She looked back at him, and met his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and slowly lifted her hand.

Then she grabbed the angel blade from where it'd fallen to the ground and dropped it into his hand.

Dean hadn't expected it, but he didn't let that slow him down. he reacted immediately, closing his hand around the blade. He wasn't holding the handle, and he could feet the metal cut deep into his palm, but there wasn't time to readjust. All pain was thrown to the back of his head. He wouldn't let himself feel it.

Lily rolled out of the way, moving back away from him as fast as she could. He shoved himself to his feet, using his good leg to propel himself forward, straight toward the demon.

Azazel had a blade in his hand, too. Dean hadn't seen that before now.

It was too late to turn around, or to stop himself. And he wouldn't have even if he could've. He was about a hundred percent convinced that he wasn't making it out alive, but dammit if he wasn't going to take Azazel with him when he went.

He was almost fast enough.

* * *

><p>Cas heard it when Dean Winchester screamed.<p>

The battlefield was a cacophony of noises. Angels shrieked Enochian battle cries above, demons hissed and cackled, cries of agony were ripped from people's lips, the dying angels shrieked almost unbearably-loud as they fell to Earth, crippled angels screamed for the Rit Zien to come and save them, whether that meant healing or death, anything to stop the agony. And yet Cas heard the sound of Dean's cries, echoing louder in his ears than any of the rest. Maybe it was because he could also feel it reverberating through his head, in the wordless noises that Dean was still sending him. Or maybe Cas was just listening.

He'd felt it when Dean was hurt. His prayers were incoherent, and Cas didn't know what had happened, but that it involved a demon and that Dean could no longer fight. Beyond that, Cas hadn't needed to know the details. All that mattered was that he arrived there in time.

This scream was different. Stronger. Cas could feel it in his bones.

Then everything went quiet.

Logically speaking, Cas knew that that was impossible. Fights continued on. The injured were still in agony. Everything else continued on exactly as it had been before. But still, it sounded quieter than it was before, as if all of the noises were muted, or as if something was missing.

The change was dramatic enough – and shocking enough – that it took Cas several seconds to figure out what had caused it. Then he understood.

Dean had stopped praying.


	47. Part 3 Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Dean's body was on the ground. Sprawled, limbs falling in random places, lying on his back. He was curled around his chest, as if he was trying to protect himself. One hand clutched at the gaping hole in the center of his chest. The other was lying limp, stretched out in front of him. The angel blade had fallen an inch from his fingertips.

There was nothing around him. No angels, and no demons. The fighting continued around them, just as fierce as before, but it was as if Dean Winchester existed within a bubble of calm.

Cas did not know the reason for it, but he didn't care, or even stop to think about it. He was too busy falling to his knees beside Dean, clutching at the front of his jacket. "No," he said, firmly. "No, Dean, you are not dead. You are going to be okay. I promise you that. You will survive."

He moved Dean's hand off his chest, and pressed his own in its place. It did nothing. Blood continued to gush between Cas' fingers, and he could no longer heal Dean's injuries.

He was powerless, and he felt it.

"Hester!" he screamed, not daring to rely on a mental prayer. "Balthazar. Any of the angels who can hear my voice, I need you here. I need your help."

He continued the calls. No angels came.

But Dean opened his eyes.

"Cas," Dean said, or almost said. Cas could see his lips move, and read the shape of them, but no sound came from Dean's mouth.

"You're okay," Cas said, instinctively. He had a brief flash of the first hunt he had completed, of sitting in the backseat of the Impala, holding the Vetala's victim and speaking those same words. They seemed much less useful now then they had been then. They had worked in calming that girl down, but he didn't see the point of them now. Not when they both knew that it was not true.

He couldn't stop speaking them, though.

"It will be okay," Cas repeated. His mind was racing, trying to come up with a solution. "Can you walk?"

Dean didn't reply. He didn't need to. Cas knew the answer. He didn't think that he would even be able to make Dean sit up, let alone make it all the way back to the Impala, toward safety.

He pressed harder on Dean's wound. Blood continued to pour out. Dean's eyes were closed now, unconscious. If Cas had his grace, he would not need Dean to walk. He would be able to lift Dean easily, hold him in his arms and race him to the nearest hospital.

These were pointless thoughts. If Cas had his grace, they would not need a hospital. Dean would be healed by now.

"Dean!"

Cas almost started, but then he recognized the voice. It was Sam, finally breaking through the mass of demons and stumbling to their little area of peace. His shirt was torn, and his cheek was cut deeply and still bleeding, but he didn't looked injured beyond that. For a brief moment, the relief at seeing Sam alive and relatively unhurt was strong enough to overshadow the fear for Dean.

Then he saw the grief and fear and pain covering Sam's face, and all of his own emotions came roaring back.

"He is alive," Cas said, quick and urgent. "Injured, but alive. He will not be for much longer. We must get him somewhere safe."

Sam didn't nod, or do anything to acknowledge Cas' words. Instead, he bent at once and wrapped his arms around Dean, picking him up and carrying him over his shoulder. Sam made no attempts to be gentle – there wasn't time for that. Dean gave a strangled cry, body spasming with pain. Cas didn't know if he should be grateful or not. He felt the sight of Dean's pain tear through him, as if he were the one who had been injured. But at least it showed that Dean still lived.

"Come on," Sam gasped. He was breathing hard, his voice showing the strain of carrying Dean, but he still did not hesitate. Cas did not allow himself to, either. He scrambled to his feet and hurried after Sam, blade in hand, ready to use it. Nothing would be able to reach Sam or Dean. He would not allow it.

He didn't need to use the blade. No demons approached them. It was almost eerie, moving through the battle yet remaining untouched. There was no explanation – or, if there was, then Cas didn't care to look for it. All that mattered was getting Dean to the Impala, racing him to the nearest hospital before time ran out.

Then Cas saw Azazel.

The demon had a tight grip on Lily, and was manhandling her toward the crypt, which was only a few feet away from where they stood. Lily wasn't making it easy for him. She was screaming and thrashing in his arms, trying to break herself free, to no avail. Azazel's hands were digging into her skin, and he was slowly but steadily forcing her toward the Gate. He still held the Colt. Even from this far away, and despite the chaos of the battle swarming around them, Cas was able to see the tears that streaked her cheeks, and the way that her body trembled.

He could also see that Azazel no longer held the knife that had stabbed Dean. It had been discarded a few steps back, and was lying in the dirt, still red with blood.

Cas was suddenly starkly aware of his own heartbeat in his ears, and his breathing echoing almost unbearably loud, as if part of him had been drawn inward. But his eyes remained fixated on Azazel's form, watching as he picked Lily up off the ground and forcibly carried her to the Gate, ignoring the way that she cried and kicked her legs. If her struggles hurt him at all, it didn't show on his face, and Cas doubted that it did.

He knew one thing that would hurt, though.

"Cas?" Sam shouted, raising his voice to be heard above the battle. His hands were busy supporting Dean, or else Cas was certain that Sam would be shaking Cas, or dragging him toward the car. Until that moment, Cas hadn't even realized that he had stopped moving. "Cas, we need to go!"

"I know," Cas said, and his voice sounded distant, even in his own ears.

Azazel dropped Lily in front of the Gate, shoving the Colt into her hands and closing her fingers around it. She shook her head wildly and threw the gun to the ground, turning and trying to run away.

A crack, and Lily was on the ground, clutching her face. Azazel had hit her with enough force to bruise, Cas was certain. The demon seemed calm. He simply bent and retrieved the gun, then forced it into her hands again. This time, she didn't drop it.

"Cas!" Sam shouted.

"Take Dean and go," Cas said, the words tumbling from his lips before he was conscious of the fact that he was going to say them. "Don't wait for me. I will find you later."

"Cas-" Sam protested, the word sharper this time, but Cas didn't wait around to hear what he was going to say. Instead, he took off running, aiming himself straight for the crypt.

Sam was smart. He would realize that Cas could survive the battle himself, but that Dean could not. And above all, Sam would not risk his brother's life. The Winchesters would leave without waiting for Cas, and he would track them down later, once the battle had reached its end and he had the time to search the local hospitals.

Or maybe he would die here, and never see the Winchesters again. Sam was smart enough to know that that was also a possibility. In that case, he would still focus all of his attention on saving Dean, instead of wasting time trying to aid Cas once it was already too late. Either way, Dean would be protected.

Cas hadn't understood it at first, the fact that Dean had sold his soul to save his brother. It had seemed foolish. Cas loved Sam in the same brotherly way that Dean did, and he was grateful that Sam was still alive, and that Cas had had the opportunity to know him. But even so, he couldn't imagine how an eternity of suffering in exchange for saving his life would be a worthwhile trade.

Now, though, it was suddenly, perfectly clear.

Dean might die. Cas knew that Sam would do all that he could, that the doctors would fight to save Dean's life. But Cas wasn't naive. He knew that any number of small things could go wrong, that a few seconds could make the difference between life and death, and there was no way of knowing which side would win.

If Dean died now, he would be taken to Hell. And Cas had sworn to himself that he would never allow that to happen. But as long as Azazel held Dean's soul, there was nothing that could be done.

If Dean was going to die today, then Azazel had to die first. Which meant that Cas had to kill him now, while Dean still drew breath. It didn't matter to him what became of himself, or that attempting to kill Azazel might be a suicide charge. All he knew was that he would do anything it took to regain Dean's soul, damn the consequences. And if Dean had felt half of the love and determination toward Sam that Cas felt now for Dean, then he could understand why selling his soul would be such an attractive option. Had Azazel turned to Cas and offered to let him take Dean's place in Hell, he would not have hesitated.

Lily was still on the ground. Azazel had a grip on her arms, trying to haul her to her feet and force her to close the last few steps to the door. She was still fighting, but with less intensity than she had before. This was one battle that she would lose, Cas knew. He gave it less than a minute before Azazel got his way.

Another reason to kill him now, then. If Lilith was released, it wouldn't just be that Dean was tortured in Hell; it would be far, far worse. It would mean Lucifer's eventual release, and Dean and Sam being used by the angels somehow. Cas still didn't know what Naomi wanted with the Winchesters, but he did not care. Anything that she wished, he would not allow it to come to pass. He would rather die here, to bleed out whatever was left of his grace into the ground and become nothing more than a tattered set of wings on the grass, than to allow Naomi to touch either brother.

He was not hesitating. If he died, so be it.

But Azazel would not win.

He'd wanted to take the demon by surprise. He didn't. Cas had never expected to, really.

"Castiel," Azazel said, releasing his hold on Lily and straightening, turning to face him as he approached. "Well, haven't you been a troublemaker."

Cas paused several feet away from Azazel, blade in hand, watching the demon cautiously. He was prepared to die, but that didn't mean that he embraced the idea. If he died, then he died, but if he could find a way to live, then he would. For Dean's sake, almost more than his own. It was strange, how his biggest worry regarding his destruction had nothing to do with where his soul would go, or even if he still had enough of a soul to go anywhere after death. Instead, his only thought was of all the times that Dean had already believed Cas to be dead, and of what it would do to the man if he was finally forced to confront the truth of it. It was also strange how, even knowing that Dean would be heartbroken, the thought of Cas' death still seemed worth it, so long as Azazel died with him. So long as Dean was safe, any other sacrifice was one that Cas would be willing to make.

"You made things difficult for me," Azazel continued, stepping toward him. That was good. The closer Azazel came to him, the farther that he was from Lily. Cas hoped that the girl would at least attempt to run. She may not make it far, but she could both try, at least.

She wasn't, though. She had pushed herself to her feet, and backed away until she was pressed against the side of the crypt, but she didn't look as though she planned on moving anytime soon. Cas could only hope that she'd come to her senses soon, and get away while she still had the chance.

Cas could not focus on her for long, though. The battle was about to begin.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die," Azazel said. His voice was calm, with no trace of doubt. That alone was enough to give Cas pause. Demons possessed all types of abilities, ones that could easily be used to kill a human. Cas, though, would not die so easily, and Azazel had to know enough to at least suspect that. Angels were naturally immune to some of the demon's deadliest abilities, and even if Cas were not fully an angel, that didn't mean that he would die like a human.

He still might die. If anyone was capable of discovering a way to kill an angel – or a human – like Cas, it would be Azazel. And there were hundreds of discarded angel blades littering the cemetery, and whether he was angel or human, he would still die the same if stabbed with one. But Azazel had not drawn a blade, nor any other type of weapon. He held nothing in his hands but the Colt, which was useless for anything but opening the Gate. Rather than making Cas rush forward to attack Azazel while he was unarmed, it made Cas wary instead, wondering what Azazel knew that he did not. Wondering how Azazel could possibly look so sure of his success.

He didn't realize. Not until Azazel lifted the Colt and aimed it at Cas' chest.

Even then, there was still a split second where he simply stared down the barrel of the gun, not comprehending.

"Here's the good thing about this gun," Azazel said. "It might not shoot any more once the bullets are gone, but it will still work well enough as a key. Which means there's no reason why I need to keep the last bullet at all."

That was the exact moment when Cas remembered what had happened to the last bullet. It had been in the pocket of Dean's jacket, ready to take with them into battle on the off chance that they found an opportunity to use it.

Azazel had been alone with Dean for several seconds after the stabbing, long enough for him to have found the bullet.

Cas threw himself to the side an instant later, but Azazel hadn't pulled the trigger. Of course he wouldn't. He knew better than to waste his last shot. He would wait until there was absolutely no chance of him missing, and only then would he shoot.

All that meant was that Cas couldn't give him the opportunity to shoot.

Cas was fast. He could move faster than a human, if only barely. He had not known this before, but it was something he found out only a second after his realization, when Azazel was abruptly behind him, reappearing out of thin air. Cas was moving almost before he realized where Azazel was, jumping the tombstone to his left quicker than even Dean or Sam would be capable of. He did not pause, or wait to see what Azazel would do next. He knew that all it would take was a second's hesitation, and Azazel would have the opportunity that he needed. Cas could not give him the chance.

So he continued to move, spinning out of the way before he even got the chance to see Azazel's location. All he had to guide him was instinct, the sixth sense about an enemy's location that had been honed during the long battle from before time had any meaning, facing down Lucifer's army. He did not allow himself to doubt himself. If he did, he would die.

Still, though, Azazel was faster.

He hadn't pulled the trigger. Cas still hadn't given him the chance to. He was moving fast enough to dodge a bullet, and all he needed to do was ensure that the wound was nonfatal, and he would be able to survive – or so he assumed, based on the fact that John had been relatively-unharmed by the shot to his leg. If Azazel pulled the trigger and Cas did not die, he would have lost his best weapon. Even with an injured arm or leg, Cas thought that he might still stand a chance against the demon then.

But Cas couldn't get close to Azazel, either. No matter what Cas tried, there was no denying that he had to move as a human did, and Azazel did not. Even if Cas tried to reach the demon, all Azazel had to do was transport himself a few feet away, and he would be out of Cas' reach in less than the time that it took to blink. It didn't matter what Cas tried to do. He wouldn't be able to close the difference, not while Azazel was being so careful.

He wasn't even trying to close the distance. It took all his energy, all of his focus, just to stay one step ahead. It was a dangerous dance, and one misstep meant death. A second's hesitation, a moment's pause, and Azazel would have the opportunity that he needed to bury the bullet in Cas' chest.

Cas wouldn't give up. He meant what he'd decided before about saving Dean, even if it meant dying himself. Still, though, he couldn't shake the feeling that Azazel held the upper hand. Cas would keep trying, but winning this fight would require a miracle, and Cas was no longer sure if he believed in those or not.

Then it happened. A miscalculation, a single mistake.

He'd meant to move between the two graves. He didn't.

His foot hit the tombstone, and he tripped.

It almost seemed to happen in slow motion. He staggered, and managed to catch himself before he fell, but he knew that this was exactly what Azazel had been waiting for. Cas was unsteady, and if Azazel pulled the trigger now, he wouldn't be able to move away in time.

_I'm sorry, Dean,_ Cas thought, even though he knew that there was no chance that the Winchester would ever be able to hear those words. But that was his one regret, or the one that filled his mind the most in that moment. He pitied Sam, too, of course. And Hester, and Balthazar, and all of his other siblings who had looked toward him almost as if he were their leader. He would be disappointing them all, and for that, he felt guilty.

Dean, though, was the one that he regretted the most.

Cas took a breath, and prepared to die.

* * *

><p>He was awake.<p>

Maybe.

Barely.

It hurt, god it hurt, he couldn't think of anything else. Dean couldn't even tell if his eyes were open or closed, if he was awake or not or if he was fucking dead, he didn't know, all he knew was that the pain was roaring through him like the worst kind of agony, and he-

Awake. Yeah, okay, he thought that he was. And he was moving. That part was harder to tell. How the fuck could he focus on where he was going when he had all this pain, way to fucking much, he couldn't stand it, it was like his entire body was one live wire and he was on fire and he could still feel the blood pouring out of him, and it hurt like a bitch, worse than hurt like a bitch, hurt worse than anything he could ever remember and why was he awake to feel this, what had even happened to him, he couldn't even remember, all he knew was that it hurt.

One thing cut through the haze of pain, though.

Or, two things.

Sammy. Cas.

Had to find them. If Dean was hurt, they could be, too. He had to focus on that, to make sure they were okay, didn't matter if he was. If they were okay, then he'd curl up somewhere and die, and fuck he'd be glad for it, anything to get away from this never-ending pain.

But had to find Sammy. He'd been taken by the demon- No, they'd gotten him back. But he'd been somewhere. Dean had to find-

He realized it, then. His face pressed against Sam's back. Thrown over Sam's shoulder, Sam carrying him somewhere, didn't matter where, he didn't even want to ask. it just meant that Sam was alive, and okay, that was okay, Dean didn't have to look for him now.

But Cas wasn't here.

Dean's eyes were open, he'd figured that out now. Black around the edges, but he could still look. And he was staring, trying to find something, but no Cas. Could be anywhere, Dean didn't know.

"Cas." He thought he said it. He wanted to, at least, but his mouth didn't feel like it was connected to his body and he didn't even know if he could make any part of him move, if he was even still a part of his body. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he didn't have a fucking body anymore, but that couldn't be true, because he could still feel it. Death couldn't hurt like this. No way was he feeling this for all eternity, he had to still be alive, because he knew he still had his body, and that it was still throbbing and screaming and burning and hurting. He could feel it. It was just that the pain, it was way too strong and he couldn't feel anything else, nothing but the pain that was destroying him from inside.

Or maybe he was dead. Maybe this was Hell.

He didn't care. He could be alive, or he could be dead, it didn't make one bit of difference, he just needed it to stop.

He found Cas.

Across the cemetery, far enough away that Dean could barely see him. Stuff was happening around him, making his eyes burn, not as bad as everything else so he didn't even care. Things were in the way. Fighting. Corpses. But Dean could see it.

Cas, tripping over a stone. And Azazel had a gun.

He didn't know what was happening. His brain didn't piece it all together, he didn't have one clue what was happening or why it was happening or what was going to happen next, but he saw those things and he knew it was bad, that it had to stop.

Sam was moving away from Cas, running fast, getting farther and farther. No, that was wrong. They had to go back, they had to stop him, the demon would-

Dean didn't know, didn't finish that thought, but he was screaming at Sam to turn around, and screaming Cas' name, but it wasn't working. His body still didn't listen, he didn't know if the screams were just in his head. But still, Sam had to know that they couldn't leave Cas behind, Sam had to turn around and go back and save Cas and then they could get out, Sam had to-

Sam wasn't turning around.

Dean realized it now. Cas was going to die.

He was screaming. He thought it was out loud now.

Cas was going to die.

Dean couldn't stop it.

There was nothing they could do to keep it from happening.

Nothing.

The end.

It was over.

He thought.

But-

Lily moved.

* * *

><p>The Colt went off. Cas heard it, echoing unbearably loud in his ears, and he braced himself for the feel of the bullet tearing through his flesh, and hoped that the death would come fast enough that he would not suffer the pain for long.<p>

No pain came. The shock nearly knocked him over, but he did not stay frozen for long. He spun around instantly, looking to see what had stopped his death.

Lily had her arms tight around Azazel, in a strange inverse of the way that he had carried her to the crypt. The Colt was not aimed properly. It was pointed just a little too left, just far enough off course that it had flown past Cas' side.

She did not hold Azazel long. A second later, and Azazel threw her aside with one swipe of his hand, an angry gesture that sent her flying into the crypt. She collided with a painful crash. The crypt shook, but despite how unsteady it looked already, it did not break. But Lily did. She landed in a heap on the ground, not moving.

But for that second, Azazel was distracted.

It was all the time that Cas needed.

Azazel turned back toward him, eyes narrowed and flashing yellow, and it was clear that he still intended for Cas to die, and that he clearly expected to succeed. He must have some other way to kill someone like Cas, maybe even some secret power that the angels were ignorant to. Cas didn't know.

He never got the chance to find out.

That second was all the time that Cas needed to drive him blade into Azazel's flesh.

For an instant, everything seemed to stop, as though they were standing frozen. It was a snapshot of time. Cas' left hand on Azazel's shoulder, holding him in place while his right hand drove the blade deep enough into Azazel's stomach that the blade vanished to the hilt, and stuck. There was no blood. Azazel's eyes were still yellow, and widened in surprise, the first signs of shock just beginning to form on his features. That made Cas pleased, in a sadistic way. He was glad that Azazel realized that he was dying in the moments before it happened. After everything that Azazel had done to Sam and Dean – everything that he had aided Naomi in doing to the angels – he would be disappointed if the demon never got the chance to learn of his fate.

Then his vessel flashed, and just like that, the man's eyes were no longer yellow. They had returned to their natural color, and he fell, a multitude of other injuries forming on his dead flesh. This vessel must have died many times over, even before Cas had plunged the angel blade into him. He felt guilty for being glad of that. It would have been worth killing one innocent man to stop the demon and save Dean from Hell, and that was a choice that Cas had made, even if it made him guilty. But he couldn't stop himself from being relieved that there was nothing that they could have done to save the vessel.

And just like that, Azazel was dead.

There was no time to think of it. He ran to the crypt immediately, dropping to his knees besides Lily, his hands hovering uselessly above her form. He didn't dare reach out to her, not when he didn't know how her ability would affect him. Which meant that there was nothing he could do but kneel there, calling her name and hoping that she would open her eyes.

She did.

"Ow," she said immediately, reaching up with one hand to rub her head, followed immediately by, "Fuck!"

Cas' shoulders slumped with relief. "We can't stay here," he said, gesturing for her to stand, and straightening himself as if to lead by example. She followed suit, and not Cas could see that there was something wrong with her arm, as if it were stuck into her shoulder the wrong way. The word dislocated flashed though his head, and he grimaced. So did Lily.

But still, she managed to stand. She staggered a few times, good arm thrown out to grab for anything to hold her up. Cas stepped back, feeling guilty as he did so, watching her with worry and knowing that he could do nothing to steady her. But she managed to steady herself after only a few seconds, and though her voice was drawn with pain and tears were still streaming out of her eyes, she managed a tight nod. "Let's go."

Cas nodded, and jogged as fast as he dared – as fast as he thought that Lily would keep up with. He paused long enough to pick the Colt up from where it had fallen beside Azazel's hands, and then they set off.

Cas' mind was racing. Azazel was dead, but they were not safe. His followers fought on, and many of them likely didn't know that their leader had fallen. Naomi would not give up the fight for the sake of one dead demon. The war with the angels would continue. By now, Sam and Dean should be gone, hopefully well on their way to the nearest hospital. Cas would have to find them, but for now, he had an injured human that he had to lead away from the battle, and no idea where he was going to take her.

There was one thing that he hadn't counted on: the fact that some demons might already know that Azazel had been slain, and want revenge.

Cas sensed them a moment before he heard Lily's shriek, and turned just in time to see them coming at him. Ten demons, he thought – there was no time to count. All of them were coming after them, racing forward with fury and revenge in their black eyes. Instinctively, Cas raised his blade to defend himself and the girl, but his hand was empty – the blade he had used had been left inside Azazel's body, and he'd had no time to find a new one, despite the number of them lying about.

He scrambled back, casting his eyes around for any type of weapon that could be used against them, but finding nothing in arm's reach. He shook his head, because he could not be defenseless. He refused to believe that he could succeed in killing Azazel only to die a few feet away, slain by random demons that he should be able to defeat easily. He wouldn't allow it to happen.

Then a light flashed, and the demons shrieked.

The light grew stronger, until it began to burn Cas' eyes. Lily made a low noise, burying her face in her shoulder and covering her eyes with her uninjured hand, as if it were too much to bear. But though it hurt, it was no so painful that Cas had to turn away. So he continued to watch as the light grew stronger and stronger, and as the demons were lit from within, their eyes burning in their skulls until their vessels fell, leaving nothing but dark craters in place of their eye sockets.

It was harder to see now that he was on Earth. Heaven was far more connected to the angel's plane than Earth was, meaning that Cas had to focus hard before he finally recognized the angel as Balthazar.

_Run._

Now, there was doubt. Cas knew the voice, even if the angel's form was still difficult for him to make out. "I thought you hadn't joined the fighting."

The light before him flashed louder, and then Balthazar's voice was echoing in his head again. _Yes, well, I wouldn't have had to if you had taken better care of your precious Winchesters. Now run._ There were more demons, surrounding them on all sides. Just like when Dean had first been injured, though, none of them were able to reach Cas or Lily. Now, he knew why. _I'm holding them off as best I can, but in case you haven't noticed, there is a whole legion of demons riding your ass – and no, that's not an exaggeration. Run!_

"Thank you," Cas said, and then turned and did as Balthazar had said.

He didn't look back, but he could feel Lily's presence close behind him, following him step for step. He nodded, glad that her injuries weren't holding her back as much as he had feared, and then allowed himself to focus on the area around him. He stooped as he ran, grabbing the closest demon blade and spinning it in his hand so that it would be ready to swing, and watched for any demons who might break past Balthazar and come after them.

Instead, he found Sam.

Cas stumbled, and nearly collided with him before he managed to stop himself. Sam was alone, carrying an angel blade in one fist, but nothing else. "Dean," Cas gasped immediately, terror flashing through him.

"In the Impala," Sam said, and Cas could relax, if only slightly.

"You were supposed to take him to the hospital," Cas said.

"We're not leaving you," Sam said, and nothing else. Instead, he turned and started off to the car instead, trusting Cas and Lily to follow. Cas fell in step behind him, wondering at the emotions that were rushing through him. Worry over the fact that Dean had been left alone, terror that the delay might prove fatal. But also something warmer, like relief or gratitude or love, and even though he would greatly prefer that Dean was taken somewhere to be saved, there was also a part of him that was glad that Sam hadn't actually left him behind.

The Impala was locked when they arrived. Sam fumbled for the keys, rushing to get the doors opened, while Cas pressed his face against the window to the backseat, staring inside. Dean was stretched across the seat, his eyes closed. Sam's flannel overshirt was pressed against Dean's stomach, and Dean's hands were placed over it, holding it in place, though Cas couldn't tell if Dean was conscious enough to actually hold it himself.

"Shit," Sam said, voice low, and a short stream of other expletives followed, until finally he got the door unlocked. "Get in the passenger seat," Sam added to Lily, who was already scrabbling to follow his directions. "And whatever you do, don't touch anyone."

Sam turned to look at Cas then, but Cas' attention was locked on Dean. Now that the doors were opened, he wasted no time in joining Dean in the backseat. The Colt was still in his hand, but now he tossed both it and the angel blade carelessly to the floor before carefully arranging Dean so that his head was in Cas' lap, and Cas could reach over and keep pressure on the wound. Dean did not move, or showing any sign of being able to feel what Cas did. Still, though, he breathed, and when Cas touched his free hand against the side of Dean's neck, he could feel the pulse beating there. It was faint, but still, it was present.

"Hurry," Cas urged. Sam didn't need to be told. He was already in the front seat, shifting the car into drive and taking off as fast as he dared.

"How is he?" Lily asked in a small voice. She didn't turn to look. She was clinging to the door of the car with her good hand, keeping her head buried into her shoulder like she couldn't bear to look about her.

"He will live," Cas said, sharply enough that it made Lily flinch. Cas felt guilt for that, in a vague sort of way, but then he looked down at Dean's pale face, and all other emotions were drowned out by the roar of fear and pain that rushed through him. "He will live," Cas said again, in a much lower voice. "It will be alright, Dean. You will be okay."

The words fell even flatter than before, now that he was certain that Dean was not awake enough to hear, and certainly not enough to understand. But Cas had to keep speaking them, regardless.

Sam drove faster.


	48. Part 3 Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Never before had Cas wished more greatly for his powers to be at full strength.

No, that wasn't entirely true. He had felt the desire more acutely when they'd been on the battlefield, and he'd first seen Dean's body crumpled on the ground. Seeing Dean injured felt as though it had caused him actual, physical pain, and he would've done anything to make it right. Still, though, he never would have imagined that not being able to see Dean would be so much worse.

The doctors had said that Dean looked well. That was a relative measurement, though. What they meant was that Dean wasn't dead, and that there was no reason to believe that that would change soon. But there was also no reason to believe that he would survive, either. It was a waiting game, one that was slowly driving Cas insane.

Beside him, Sam was slumped low in his chair, his eyes only half open. The look on his face was achingly familiar. Castiel had watched the brothers for some time before making the decision to save Dean, the last time that Dean had been in this position. So Cas recognized the dejection in Sam's face, the way that he stared at the clock the same way that he had stared at Dean's body all those months ago. Except that this time, Cas wasn't in Heaven. He was on Earth, joining Sam in his vigil, and there was nothing that he could do to ease Dean's pain.

Both of them were counting the minutes, waiting for the next opportunity they would have to visit Dean, even if only for a few minutes. They had been this way for the past several hours. Waiting.

It had been roughly two hours since Dean had been taken from surgery and moved to the ICU (a unit that Cas hadn't even realized existed before today). It made sense, a place devoted to the most severe injuries. But he didn't like the restrictions that this place enforced, even if he did understand why they were necessary. And he didn't like that Dean had to be in this unit in the first place, instead of in a regular room where they would be allowed to stay constantly by his side.

Sam's fingers twitched on the armrest, the only sign of movement that he'd shown in the past hour. The way that his body was turned, Cas almost couldn't see the gauze pad that was taped to left cheek, covering the gash which the doctors had stitched up. According to them, there was a good chance that it was going to scar. Sam hadn't even reacted, just demanded to know when he could see Dean.

They were only allowed one visit every hour, and only one of them was able to see him at a time. Sam had gone the last time, and he'd said that Dean looked well enough, considering. Still, though, Cas ached to be able to see him with his own eyes, to hold his hand and feel his pulse the way that he had during the entire ride to the hospital, reassuring himself that Dean truly was still alive, and still fighting.

Cas cleared his throat, making Sam turn toward him. "You're sure that he didn't look like he was in any pain?" he asked. It had been almost an hour since Sam had been in to visit him, and Cas was still asking the same questions over again, as though the answers were somehow going to change from one minute to the next.

Sam still didn't seem bothered, though. "It didn't look like it," he said. "I don't know, though." That was the exact answer that he had given last time. Sam didn't look as though he wished to speak much, but he always answered Cas' questions the moment that he asked that, for which Cas was grateful.

This time, though, Sam added, "You'll be able to see for yourself in about five minutes."

Cas opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning. He knew that there was only five minutes until their next opportunity to visit Dean; he had just assumed that Sam would once again be the one to go. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Don't you want to see Dean?"

"'Course I do," Sam said, and took a deep breath, letting it out through his teeth. "It's your turn, though. You have your ID, right?"

"Yes," Cas said, reaching into his pocket to pull out the wallet he still carried. He wasn't entirely sure that he knew how he had managed to hold onto it throughout all these months, but somehow, he had. And the ID was still exactly where he had left it. He removed it down, looking down at the license that Sam had made for him. His face smiled up at him from the surface, looking slightly confused about why Sam had been taking the picture. He read the name James Mercury, and it almost made him smile, thinking back on how accepted he had felt when Sam had first given it to him. Then he remembered how Sam had hoped that they'd never need to use it, and any traces of amusement disappeared immediately.

"Thank you," Cas whispered. "For letting me visit him. I- Thank you."

"Of course," Sam said, then hesitated for a moment before saying, "And, you'll tell me how he looks, too, okay? I mean, if he's in pain or if anything's changed from what I've told you, and all that?"

"Of course," Cas said solemnly, and reached over to squeeze Sam's arm in a gesture that he hoped would be comforting. When Sam smiled, it only looked partially forced. Then he shook his head, settling back into his chair.

"God," Sam said in a low voice, though he did not sound particularly prayerful. "I've spent way too long doing this," he added, making a vague gesture around the hospital waiting room to show what he meant.

Cas nodded slowly. "We will not allow this to happen again," he promised, though he did not know who he was speaking to, whether it was Sam or himself or Dean, despite the fact that Dean couldn't hear him, wasn't even present in the room with them.

Sam nodded back, then abruptly stiffened, grabbing the armrests and looking like he was preparing to spring to his feet any moment. Cas instinctively plunged his hand into his jacket, reaching for his angel blade, which Sam had returned to him after the battle, and which he had hidden from the hospital staff. There was no chance that he would go unarmed, not when Dean was still injured and unable to defend himself.

It took him only a moment to realize what Sam had been reacting too.

Hester stood in the doorway to the waiting room. Her vessel was mussed, hair astray and her clothes ripped and stained with blood. From that alone, Cas knew that she must have come straight from the battlefield, and had not even taken the time to fix her appearance first. More than that, he could see the exhaustion written in every line of her vessel's face, and in the look in her eyes, and even in the brief flashes of her drooping wings that he was able to make out.

"How did you find us?" Sam demanded, his voice rough. Despite the aid that Hester had given them, Sam still seemed defensive, and looked the way that Cas felt – as if he was ready to spring at Hester the moment that she made any move to harm any of them. He trusted Hester, and a part of his mind bereted this fear as being ridiculous. Still, it was as if his instincts had taken a mind of their own, one that told him that he must protect Dean at all costs, even against someone who he logically knew would not try to harm them.

"The sigils are working, if that is your concern," Hester said as she stepped into the room. "I saw Dean's condition, and knew that you could not have gone far. It was a simple matter to search the nearest hospital until I found where you were." Sam and Cas both frowned, not finding that the slightest bit reassuring, until Hester added, "Do not worry. The other side is not nearly organized enough to track you down."

"So you've taken the lead, then?" Cas asked, and couldn't keep the hopeful tone from his voice. He knew how unlikely it was, considering that they had been greatly outnumbered. But still, if Hester was here now, and Naomi's soldiers were not, then it had to mean something good. He hoped, at least.

Hester's smile was fierce, and proud. "Yes," she said, and did not add anything more. Instead, she stepped forward, and placed one hand on Cas' cheek. He stiffened instinctively, then relaxed as all of the aches in his body vanished.

"Thank you," he said.

She did not respond to that, either, just turned and moved her hand to Sam instead. He didn't react at all to the healing, but after a moment, he reached up and pulled the gauze off of his cheek, revealing the unbroken skin beneath it.

"Thank you," Cas repeated, speaking for both Sam and himself when he expressed his gratitude over her healing Sam's injuries, though he still glanced around the room and added, "You have to be more discrete."

"None of them will notice us," Hester assured him – and sure enough, none of the others who waited here even glanced in their direction, almost as if they did not exist, or if they were not able to be seen. Cas nodded, and then Hester stepped back, gesturing for them to follow after her. "Come," she said. "I need you to show me where Dean is. I saw the extent of his injuries when I flew overhead during the battle, and I believe that he is the one who needs my help the most."

Sam was the one who led the way, taking them through the halls of the ICU until they found the section where Dean lay. None of the doctors or nurses that they passed even noticed their existence, just as Hester had promised.

It was his first time seeing Dean since they had rushed him into the hospital, hours earlier. Cas froze in the doorway, his breath catching at the sight of Dean lying amid the wires and tubes and medical machinery that were apparently necessary to keep Dean alive. Cas had known that Dean was badly injured, enough so that he needed to stay in this ward. And Cas had known about the machines, because Sam had warned him. Still, nothing prepared him for the sheer number of them, nor for the way that Dean looked almost unbearably small, nestled amongst them as though he fragile enough to break any second.

Behind him, Hester cleared her throat, and Cas quickly stepped out of the way. He reminded himself that Hester was here to help, and that soon Dean would really and truly be well. But it didn't change the fact that he felt as though this image would be seared into his mind for the rest of his existence.

Hester wasted no time stepping forward and placing her hand over Dean's stomach, a low glow immediately emitting from her palm. A second later, she stepped back. And though Dean's eyes still did not open, Cas swore that his body relaxed somewhat, as if a burden had been lifted.

"He will wake soon," Hester added as she stepped back. Cas nodded, though he couldn't take his eyes off of Dean long enough to look toward her. It was still frightening, seeing the various machines attached to him, but already his entire appearance seemed drastically changed, the difference between injured and healed so striking that Cas almost couldn't believe it. And Cas had seen how Dean had reacted with pain and panic the last time that he had woken amid these types of tubing – he had remained watching over the Winchesters for a moment after he had returned to Heaven, just long enough to ensure that they really would be alright. Perhaps it was for the best if Dean was not conscious for that this time, and did not have to experience that terror twice.

"Thank you," Sam said, speaking to her for the first time. "Just, thank you." His voice was low, almost fervent, leaving no doubt to his gratitude.

Hester inclined her head once, just barely, but said, "Don't thank me." Cas finally looked away from Dean, just enough to notice that Hester was speaking to him rather than to Sam. "It was repayment, for bringing the angels to my side. I would be dead if they had not arrived when they did, and Azazel and the girl would have reached the Gate." She frowned slightly, then asked, "Where is the girl?"

Cas frowned as well, and looked to Sam for the answer. Lily had disappeared the moment that they had reached the hospital, flatly refusing to come inside with them to be treated, saying that all of the precautions in the world wouldn't be enough to keep her from being touched. She had run off before they had gotten the chance to protest, and there had been no time to look for her – not when Dean was so desperately in need of treatment. Sam had gone to look for her while Dean had been in surgery, but Cas did not know if his search had been successful. The surgery had finished at the same time that Sam had returned, and there had been other things for Cas to think about.

"She's fine," Sam said. "I fixed her arm and got her a motel room. It's demon proofed, and angel proofed. There's no way in hell that any of them are going to get her again." His voice was fierce, determined, and Cas couldn't help but wonder if Sam knew that she had saved Cas' life, or if she had done something else that had instilled this loyalty in Sam.

Hester nodded again. "Naomi is dead," she said suddenly. The words were spoken sharply, in the clipped tone of a battle leader used to slaying their enemies, but there was a tone in her voice that betrayed her fierce joy. "Her followers have retreated to Heaven, and are trying to make a stand there."

"Wait," Cas said. "Naomi is dead? You're certain?"

Hester smiled. "I am," she said, and the pride in her voice was unmistakable as she added, "I was the one who dealt the final blow."

Cas stood there, almost numb with both relief and disbelief. He imagined all of the countless times that he had been forced to bend to her will, that his mind had been torn into and rewritten to be what she wanted. Then he thought about how he was free from that fear, how she would never be able to hurt him again. And yes, he knew that other angels could pick up the practice – surely at least some of her followers knew how it was done – but somehow, that thought didn't fill him with the same terror that Naomi did. She had been the one to hurt him the most, after all.

And now she was gone.

He wasn't sure how he should feel about it, whether he should feel sorry that it had been necessary, regret the fact that he was rejoicing over the death of his sister. But he did not care. He still could not bring himself to mourn the death.

She was dead, and so was Azazel. At once, their two greatest enemies defeated, and though they had been injured, they would all survive, with no lasting effects.

It was strange, but it was only once Hester had spoken those words that Cas truly began to believe that things might actually be alright.

"What about the rest of her angels?" Sam asked. "Are they still fighting?"

The victorious smile that Hester had worn slipped away now, replaced by a small frown. "Unfortunately, yes," she said. "They have rallied under Raphael. We may have defeated them this time, but they will continue to fight." She paused, and her frown deepened. "We caught them by surprise during the last battle, which was undoubtedly one of the main causes for our victory. I doubt that we will ever be so lucky again. The real war begins now that they are prepared, and we have to watch for their return strikes." She was silent another moment, and the smile gradually reappeared on her face – not as pronounced as it had been before, but still there. "But before, she outnumbered our forces. Now, we outnumber her, if only barely."

"How many warriors did we lose?" Cas asked, the question slipping out before he could stop himself, or even decide whether he wanted to know the answer or not.

Of course he needed to hear the answer, though, regardless of whether he wished to. He had been the one to persuade the angels to fight, and he had to know how many of them had been lost because of it.

And of course he knew that it had been a war that needed to be waged, to take Naomi out of power. And loss of life would come of it, and there was nothing that he could do to prevent that. The Winchesters would tell him that it hadn't been his fault if the angels had freely decided to turn against Naomi and fight of their own free will. Cas knew it was the truth.

Still, though. He needed to know.

Hester's face fell slightly, the reminder of the sacrificing diminishing her pride slightly. "We lost an eighth of our troops," she said. "But Naomi lost a quarter."

Cas took a deep breath, and nodded, letting it out slowly. An eighth of his angels. It was not as much as it could have been, but still, it was a greater number than he had feared. And if all of Heaven had taken part in this battle, it still meant thousands of angels dead.

"We will win this," Hester said in a low voice, perhaps sensing the direction which Cas' thoughts had taken. "We will not let their sacrifice be in vain."

"I know," Cas said. "Thank you." Then he faced another moment of hesitation, before finally asking, "Who is among the dead? What about-"

His voice trailed off. He didn't know which angels he should ask about first, or even if he should say their names, or if he was too scared of what the answer would be.

"It was much of your garrison," Hester said softly. "They had the most faith in you, and fought the hardest, and so many of them were among the first to fall. They died bravely, if that makes it better."

"It doesn't," Cas said shortly, then shook his head. He had known that death would come, and he shouldn't be surprised now that it had arrived. Even so, it was not any easier to face. Another long breath, and he asked, "What about Balthazar?"

For a long moment, Hester said nothing. Then she reached into a jacket pocket and drew blade, slowly setting it down on the end of Dean's bed, beside his legs. Cas' eyes locked onto it. He had fought with Balthazar enough times that he instantly recognized the shape of his blade, even though most blades were indistinguishable from one another, even to angels.

"This was found lying atop a pair of wingprints that we believe belong to him," Hester said softly. "It was... difficult to tell, and we did not have time for investigation. He's not the only angel who is missing and presumed dead."

Cas swallowed, and he could do nothing but stare down at the blade. "Thank you for this," was all that he managed to say. Finally, it was Sam who had to reach down and pick up the blade for him, carefully storing it in the inside pocket of his jacket. Cas knew that it would be safe there, and despite everything, he couldn't help but feel a bolt of relief once the blade was out of sight, as if removing the sign of the death would make it less real.

"And," Sam suddenly said, breaking the silence that had fallen. Both Hester and Cas turned toward him, and he looked almost uncomfortable with their gazes, but looked to Hester and asked, "And does Dean have his soul back? I mean, I know that he should, since Cas killed Azazel. But do you know for sure?"

"I'm not sure," Hester said, then returned to Dean's bedside, rolling up her vessel's sleeve. "I will make sure."

Cas' first response was to protest, or insist that it was unnecessary. But Sam was right. They needed to be certain, or else that fear would always creep into the back of their minds. And more than that, if there was any chance that Dean might not have his soul, they needed to know now, while there was still time to do something more to regain it.

"Please do," Cas said tightly, turning his back on the bed and moving to place his hand on Sam's shoulder, already moving to restrain him before Hester had even touched Dean.

But even with his back turned toward the bed, Cas found himself looking over his shoulder, watching Dean's body as Hester forced her hand inside to check his soul.

It was not as painful as it could have been. Cas knew that the doctors had given Dean pain killers, and Cas desperately hoped that they were still moving through his bloodstream, preventing him from feeling at least some of what Hester was doing to him. It wasn't enough to stop his body from reacting, jerking on the bed, pained noises coming from his mouth even though he wasn't awake enough to scream. The heart monitor had been beeping steadily since they had entered the room, but now it began racing unnaturally fast, the monitor going wild and blaring its alarm. Hester glanced at it, and it immediately returned to beating its steady rhythm.

Sam instinctively threw himself forward, reaching into his jacket to where he stored his weapons. It was all that Cas could do to hold Sam back, to grab his wrist and stop him before he could close his hand around the handle of the angel blade. "Don't," Cas said sharply. "This is necessary." His own voice sounded unnatural in his ears, as if it couldn't possibly belong to him, if it was advocating for anything that caused Dean this much pain.

Then Hester removed her hand, and stepped back. "His soul is his own," she said, rolling her sleeve back down again. "No demon holds a claim to it any longer."

Sam relaxed, just slightly. And though he still watched Hester suspiciously, Cas at least felt as though he could release him, without running the risk of Sam attempting to attack Hester again.

"You're sure?" Sam demanded. "I mean, you're positive that he's got it back?"

"I am," she said, and nodded. Then she bit her lip, her face abruptly making her appear far less vulnerable than one would think that a bloodstained war leader could look, and turned toward Cas. "What happens next? How do we go on from here?"

That was a good question, one that Cas wasn't entirely certain how to answer. "I intend on staying with the Winchesters," he said, and that part was easy. It was everything else that was so hard. "What do you think will happen?"

She thought for a second, then answered, "For now, we fight in Heaven. You realize that this might not last? The battle may move to Earth again, or maybe it will stay in Heaven forever. We could fight for one year, or for a hundred. And there's no way to tell what will happen if we lose, or even if we win." And despite everything – despite the fact that she had been the one who had wanted him to return the angels' free will to them – he could see the fear in her eyes as she faced down the prospect of it now. He could understand why. For a being who had spent the past millenniums believing that they had been created specifically to obey orders, creating their own future was the most terrifying thing that he could imagine.

But it was also the most liberating.

"I know that," he said solemnly. "I know that there is no telling what will happen from here, and no way of telling what will come next. Maybe the angels will once again come for me, or for Sam or Dean. Maybe we will never again need to get involved. We can't know." He was fairly certain that she would be able to hear the fear in his own voice now as he spoke these words, and really considered the implications that they held.

Slowly, Hester reached out her hand to hold Cas', giving his hand a small squeeze that Cas thought was meant as a comforting gesture. "All we know is that the war rages on," Hester said quietly, "and that we will continue to fight."

"Yes," Cas agreed, and squeezed her hand back. Then he glanced around the room. Toward Sam, who was staring at Dean with such a look of relief on his face, it was as if he wasn't aware of the rest of the conversation, or had processed nothing except the fact that Dean once again had his soul. And toward Dean, who was no longer resting quite as easily as he had a moment ago, but didn't seem to be in any pain. Cas thought it would only be a few more minutes before he woke.

And finally, Cas smiled.

"Your war wages on," Cas said, turning back to Hester. Then he gave one more glance toward the Winchesters, and said, "But I think that my war is over."


	49. Epilogue

Thank you all for reading my story. Reviews are always appreciated, if you wish to leave one, and don't forget to click the link in my profile to check out DREYM's art masterpost.

**EPILOGUE**

"I suppose I should just be glad that you idjits didn't actually manage to get yourselves killed?" Bobby asked.

Dean laughed, and adjusted his grip on his phone. He was outside the motel where they were all staying at the moment. None of them had really wanted to go far after Dean had been released from the hospital – or, okay, he hadn't exactly been released so much as Sam and Cas had snuck him out without the doctors noticing. In his defense, it wasn't like there was anything more that the doctors could do after they'd gotten him unhooked from the machines, even if they'd been saying something about further testing. They didn't really know what was going on, anyway.

"It's not funny, boy," Bobby snapped. "I should've been there with you."

Dean instantly sobered, mostly because Bobby was right. It hadn't been funny, how close he'd come this time around. And sure, it wasn't exactly his first run-in of this sort, but that didn't mean that he'd enjoyed it any more. "Yeah," he agreed, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, I wish you'd been there, Bobby. I'm sure you would've kept my ass in line to keep the demons from chowing down on it."

"You bet I would've," Bobby grumbled. "You get an angel or something to poof you to the battlefield, and you don't think to bring me with you?"

Dean frowned, and rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry," he said, because honestly? When Sam had been missing, and Hester'd been offering him a way to get to his brother, and Cas had just frickin' vanished from the backseat like that? Bringing in backup had pretty much been the last thing on Dean's mind.

"At least you boys had someone there with ya," Bobby said, in a light tone that said that all was forgiven. "It sounds like Cas really came through in the pinch, huh?"

"Yeah," Dean said, and it was weird, but he couldn't help the smile from coming back to his face at the thought of Cas running in to save the day. Sure, part of him was upset that Cas had had to, and he was sure as hell mad that Cas had thrown himself into danger trying to attack Azazel on his own like that – ignore the fact that Dean had done the exact same thing, because this wasn't about being fair, dammit – but still. Busting in and killing the villain? Well, Dean had always had a thing for superheroes.

He suddenly realized that he hadn't said anything for a few seconds, just long enough for the silence to get weird, so he quickly added, "I mean, the guy can hold his own. I don't think I would've have made it without him." Or, he actually had the proof that he wouldn't have been able to, he thought ruefully as he glanced down at his stomach, where the gaping hole had been torn less than a day ago. Yeah, he definitely wasn't going to be calling his fight against Azazel a success, even if he had cleared the way for Cas to get it done.

Bobby just chuckled. "It's okay, boy, it's me," he said. "You don't have to pretend that you weren't just standing around with that lovestruck look on your face."

"I wasn't," Dean protested immediately.

Bobby just chuckled again, but when he spoke, his voice was serious again. "Listen," he said. "I'm sure as hell glad that you got your soul back, and that Sammy's okay, and that Azazel's not gonna be bothering anyone again. But I'm also glad you got Cas, alright?"

And- huh. Dean honestly wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that. It wasn't like Bobby usually busted out the sappy pep talks, or got anywhere near the emotional crap that Dean always avoided as a general rule. Which meant that hearing this now was weird as hell, and he didn't know where he was supposed to go from here.

"Thanks, Bobby," he finally said. Simple enough. Wasn't super insensitive either – he was pretty good at answers like that – but wasn't complete mushy-gushy crap, either. He figured that made it a good balance.

They hung up pretty shortly after that – there wasn't really anything more to say, and anyway, they'd been on the phone for a while at that point, and long conversations weren't really Dean's thing. Normally, they'd just call Bobby up, get whatever info they needed for whatever they were hunting at the moment, and be done with it. Actually sitting down and talking was kinda weird, if he were being honest. Not bad, necessarily, but not exactly normal.

There was a reason why he'd been on the phone for so long, though, and it wasn't all to do with catching Bobby up on what had happened with Azazel. Mainly, it was because there was one other person that Dean had to call next, and he wasn't entirely sure what to say.

A month ago, Dean wouldn't have worried about what to tell Dad. But then, plenty of stuff had changed since then.

The call went straight to voicemail. Dean hadn't expected anything else. "Azazel is dead," he said shortly. "Sam and I are fine. So is Cas." Not that Dad would probably care about that, but it didn't feel right to not include Cas, even if it wasn't something that Dad wanted to hear about.

He hung up after that. That was the gist of it, wasn't it? Everything that Dad really needed to know, all cut down into three little sentences. Dean slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, and adjusted his seat on the railing he was sitting on, the one directly outside the front door to the motel. He didn't bother going inside yet.

It was less than five minutes before Dad called back. That was also exactly what Dean had expected.

"How?" Dad demanded the moment that Dean answered the phone.

"Cas did it," Dean said, and paused, trying to imagine his dad's reaction to that. He still remembered all of Dad's insistences that Cas couldn't be trusted, that he shouldn't be involved with what they were doing. And Dad wasn't exactly the type who liked to be proved wrong. Dean wasn't sure if Dad would be excited that Azazel had finally bitten a bullet (or a blade, if you wanted to get technical), or if he was going to be more upset about the fact that he'd been proven wrong.

"Cas," Dad said slowly, and based off that word alone, Dean couldn't quite tell which way he was going to go.

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice coming out a whole lot fiercer than he had meant it to. "I tried taking him out, but he got me before I got him. Cas was the one who had to finish the job while Sam got me to the hospital. It's fine, though. Cas got one of his angel pals to patch me up."

For a long while, Dad didn't say anything. Dean sat there waiting, telling himself not to hold his breath, or to ask what Dad was thinking, even if he was dying to know. Dad didn't seem inclined to speak any time soon, though. After a minute or so had passed, Dean switched his phone over to speaker, and set it on the railing beside him. No sense holding it up to his ear this whole time, not if there was nothing to hear but silence.

"Cas was the one who did it?" Dad finally asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. "With an angel blade."

"You're sure he's dead?" Dad immediately demanded, voice sharpening. "You sure that those blades are going to work?"

"I'm sure," Dean said quickly. "I stabbed my fair share of demons with them, too. Trust me, none of them made it out."

Another long silence, and somehow, this one managed to be even more uncomfortable than the first. Dean shook his head, and rubbed his eyes with one hand, but still didn't say anything, just waited for whatever came out of Dad's mouth next.

"And you're sure that you're okay?" Dad asked, his voice low.

Dean blinked. That... honestly hadn't been the question that he'd been expecting next, even though it probably should've been. It was standard procedure. You finish a hunt, you tell the other one what had gone down, you double check to make sure that there hadn't been any injuries that needed taken care of. Dad had asked Dean that question way more times that he could even count, but somehow it hadn't occurred to him that Dad would want to know that now.

"Yeah," Dean said. "We're all fine. Nothing happened to Sammy. I mean, he got a little banged up during the fighting, but nothing serious, and it's all been patched up. Nothing to worry about."

"Good," Dad said. "You got your soul back?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, then cursed himself for sounding awkward. Fuck, this was Dad. And yeah, he knew that a lot of shit had gone down, but still, it shouldn't be messing with him this bad, making it so that he didn't even know what he was supposed to say. "That's what happens when the demon who owns your soul dies. Cas got that angel pal I mentioned to, uh, check." He swore he remembered that part. He remembered something invading his dreams, like this white-hot pain suddenly breaking through his skin, and making him feel unexpectedly vulnerable for a minute, like he was utterly at someone else's mercy, even though he didn't known who or why. Hadn't mentioned that part to Cas, though. He figured that that experience was something that he'd be better off keeping to himself, and that Cas would be a hell of a lot happier thinking that Dean had been unconscious for the whole thing.

"And you trust what Cas said about it?" Dad asked. "You're sure this friend of his was telling the truth?"

"Yeah," Dean said shortly. "I am."

Dean was getting really frickin' tired of these long silences.

"Good," Dad repeated. "I'm glad."

Dean made a vague noise of agreement – yeah, he was pretty damn glad not to have an eternity of hellfire in front of him. And alright, he knew that with the whole messed up angel situation in Heaven, ending up there wouldn't exactly be paradise, not for him. But that didn't mean that he wanted to be tortured forever. If he had to pick a side, he'd definitely take his chance with the angel dicks.

So yeah, "good" didn't even begin to cover it.

Dean didn't really know what else was left to say, and Dad didn't seem to have anything left, either. Dean reached for his phone, picking it up in one hand and moving his finger toward the "end call" button. After all, if they weren't going to talk, then he didn't want to rack up a phone bill – never mind that it was one that he was never going to pay.

"Dean," Dad said, a second before Dean ended the call. "I'm proud of you. It sounds like you and Sam did good."

Dean's finger only hesitated over the button for another split second before he pressed down. Afterward, he sat there for another few seconds, staring straight ahead of him, Dad's words ringing through his mind.

Then he heard a throat clear, and a moment later, Sammy stepped around the corner of the motel. "I was coming out to see if I could talk to Bobby quick," he said, in a low voice that made it clear that he'd been listening to the end of the conversation, or that he at least knew who it had been with. "I was wondering what you two were talking about for so long."

"Sorry," Dean said, glancing down at the phone.

Sam waved that off. "I'll just call Bobby myself later," he said. "Probably should do that anyway, considering everything that's happened. Even if you've already filled me in, I bet he'd want to hear my side of the story."

Sam walked over and leaned back against the railing beside Dean, staring off at the motel the same way that Dean was doing. And Dean knew exactly what Sam was doing – not pressuring him, not demanding any answers. And hell, Dean appreciated it, he really did. But it was also making his twitchy as fuck, knowing that Sam wanted to say something about this – and that Sam was definitely thinking it, even if the words weren't actually coming out of his mouth. So Dean sighed, and figured that he might as well figure out what "it" was. "How much did you hear?"

Sam hesitated. "Not everything," he said. "Just the last few seconds. It sounds like you and Dad weren't exactly doing a whole lot of talking before then."

Yeah, you could definitely say that again. "And?" Dean asked. "What do you want to say?"

Sam turned to look over at him. "I don't know," he said, and Dean narrowed his eyes, but then he realized that Sam really was telling the truth – he didn't have an opinion on this one, which was the absolute last thing that Dean had expected from his brother. Sam always had something to say, about everything. And sure enough, it was only another couple seconds before Sam was continuing, his voice careful, "I don't know, man, I'm still mad at him. But I know that you've been wanting to hear that."

Dean nodded slowly, and looked away from his brother. "The last time he said that, it was because Azazel made him," Dean said slowly. He didn't mention the fact that that had been the reason that he'd known that Dad was possessed. Sam had been there, too. He knew exactly what had gone down.

"I know," Sam said slowly. "Don't think that that was what happened this time."

"Yeah, I don't think so, either," Dean said. "I think this time he might've meant it."

"And?" Sam prompted, after Dean didn't immediately continue.

And like Sam, there was nothing that Dean could do but shrug. "I don't know," he said. "God knows I've got enough reason to be pissed at him." And he was. He definitely was. All he had to do was think back, imagine Cas getting shot and Dad taking it as proof that Cas was lying an couldn't be trusting instead of looking at the way that he'd saved Sam's life. Or pretty much anything else, all of the other shit that Dean had yelled at him about. Running off, or driving them away. Dean was sick of it, and honestly, he wasn't so sure that he even would've made the phone call if it wasn't for the fact that he'd had to – this was way too big of news to keep it to himself.

Dean couldn't help but replay Dad's words in his head, like his thoughts were stuck on repeat. How many times had he wanted to hear Dad tell him that exact thing? And he hadn't, not when he was thirteen and handled that werewolf case completely on his own, or when he'd been seventeen and fought his way through five ghouls with nothing worse than a bad cut to the arm. Figured that this would be what finally got Dad to say it, the fact that Azazel was finally dead. Too bad that Dean hadn't actually had anything to do with it, or any reason to take the credit.

"I don't know," he said again, like he was one of those toys with a voice box that just repeated the same phrase over and over. But maybe it was the fight, or maybe it was the fact that he really hadn't had a whole lot to do with the fact that Azazel was done for, but he couldn't even feel happy about this one. "I guess I thought that it'd mean more."

Sam nodded slowly. "You know that Cas and I are proud of you, right?" he asked. "I mean, you don't even have to go out and gank some huge demon to get us to say it."

"Well gosh, Sam, doesn't that just tickle me pink," Dean said, and even managed to keep a straight face. Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes, and Dean smirked.

All sarcasm aside, though, he had known that. And it was nice, actually. Not that he was gonna tell Sammy that he felt that way. If he acted that cheesy now, there was no way that Sam would let him hear the end of it, and he'd probably have to spend the rest of his life dodging Sam's super obvious attempts to have deep, emotional conversations – even more than he already had to.

"You want to talk about it at all?" Sam asked.

This time, it was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Look at me, Sam," he said. "Do I look like I want to have this conversation?" He didn't bother waiting for Sam's response, just jumped down off the railing and started for their room. "Now come on, we've got other things to worry about. Like what we're gonna do with that Lily chick, for one. Any idea where she's gonna go?"

"Actually, Cas had an idea about that," Sam said, following after Dean and pulling the room key out of his pocket. "I figured it's at least worth asking her about."

"Wait, wait," Dean said. "Cas was the one to come up with the solution to this?" Not that Dean should really be so surprised – it wasn't like Cas couldn't come up with good plans when he wanted to. Still, his ideas were usually more of the "heavenly warrior" variety. His understanding of human problems was, at best, still pretty fucking terrible. "How?"

Sam shrugged. "It makes sense that he'd be the one to remember that this was an option," he said, "considering that it's the exact same thing that you wanted to do with him back when we first met."

* * *

><p>It was only a few hours drive to get to the Roadhouse. Cas rode in the passenger seat so that Sam could sit beside Lily in the backseat, because even though she had on her gloves and her hoodie and her hat pulled low, nobody but Sam wanted to risk sitting beside her. Cas thought that he saw something akin to hurt flash across her face when she saw how much distance that they were all keeping, and it had almost been enough to make him want to reach out toward her. At the last moment, though, he stepped back. Despite the guilt that welled up inside him at the thought, he still didn't want to risk discovering what would happen if a fallen angel were to touch her skin.<p>

He thought that Sam must have been feeling the same pity as Cas was, because he seemed to be making a point of reaching out to touch her shoulder, or pat her on the arm, or even ruffle her hair once or twice. The smile that she gave him on those occasions was sad, and made Cas feel even worse about keeping his distance, even for good reasons.

He did make a point of talking to her as much as he could, learning about her sister and brother-in-law, what her parents did for a living and what they were doing now.

That last question turned out to be a mistake. Lily's face fell, and she turned herself away from him completely, her uninjured arm wrapped tight across her chest and resting her cheek against the window. "I called them to let them know that I was alive," she said, "and that I wasn't coming back."

Cas hesitated, unsure. He had wondered why Lily had decided to accompany them to the Roadhouse, but he still wasn't sure if it was acceptable to ask.

She must have known that he was wondering, though, because she added, "You don't know my mom. After I scared them like this- god, she had to have been having a heart attack the whole time that I was gone. If I come back, there's not going to be anything in the world that could stop her from running over and hugging me, and..."

She left the rest of her sentence unspoken. Cas understood.

"It is nice that they care about you so much," he tried, hoping that that would help, at least. She just shook her head and made a faint noise, one that wasn't exactly disagreement, but it was clear that she didn't agree, either.

They didn't talk as much after that. And anyway, it was only another hour or so before Sam pulled up next to the Roadhouse.

"About time," Dean said, climbing out of the car and stretching his arms above his head. "Man, I swear that was the worst traffic we've ever hit coming out this way. I mean, it's frickin' Nebraska. There's not supposed to be enough cars to even cause that much of a backup."

Considering the length of some of their drives, Cas thought that this one had been relatively short in comparison, and couldn't see why Dean was complaining. He didn't say that, though. Instead, he just climbed out of the Impala as well, then turned to watch as Lily carefully did the same. Based on the careful way that she moved, he could tell that all of her was still hurting, and not only from the injuries that he could see. Her face and arm were obvious – Sam had pushed her arm back into its socket, and cut up some cloth to make her a makeshift sling – but Cas could also see the protective way that she held her chest, and the slow way that she moved. It was obvious that the rest of her was sore as well.

Cas had offered to call Hester back to heal her. Or, it was likely that Hester wouldn't come herself this time, but one of the other angels could be sent, and healing a few minor injuries would be simple enough. Considering the part that Lily had played in Azazel's death, it would be the least that she deserved in return. She'd shaken her head before he had even finished his offer, though, and said that she had had enough of angels to last for the rest of her life. She would rather deal with her injuries for the time being than meet with one again. In a way, Cas could understand that. He imagined that living through Heaven's civil war would be traumatizing for a human.

Although, if she wanted to avoid supernatural creatures, then the Harvelle's Roadhouse was not the best place for her to go. They didn't have many options, though, and this had been deemed better than anything else they could think of.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked, reaching out one hand as if to steady her, even though he couldn't close the distance completely.

Her face was flat, showing no sign of emotion as she nodded. "I'm fine," she said, and her voice was tight, unhappy. Of course, she had sounded unhappy during all of the time that Cas had known her, but she seemed almost... more so now, though he didn't know for sure why.

There wasn't time to talk about it further. Barely another second passed before the front door to the Roadhouse opened, and a female voice said, "About time you finally got here."

"That's what I said," Dean said with a grin, and Cas turned to see two women exiting the bar and coming toward them. Jo and Ellen, Cas knew, and Dean had told him enough about the two that he could guess at which of them was which. "You have the stuff?" Dean asked.

"That's the first thing out of your mouth?" Jo demanded, though her tone was good natured, an easy smile appearing on her lips. She walked over and gave Dean a shove in the arm. "I'm starting to think that that's the only reason why you even bothered to drop by in the first place."

"'Course not," Dean said, and returned the smile as he stepped forward to give Jo a short, one-armed hug, though he still looked toward Ellen expectantly over the top of Jo's head.

"Ash got it," Ellen said. "He'll be out here any moment." Then she turned toward Lily, still smiling, though Cas thought that there was something almost slightly wary about the her expression now. "This the girl you were telling me about?"

"The girl who kills everyone she touches?" Lily asked, voice flat, no emotions leaking into her tone at all. "Yeah, that's me."

Cas had to give Ellen credit – her face didn't slip. In fact, she didn't react at all, except to nod. "Heard you're looking for work," she said. "Ever think about getting into the hunting business? Depending on whether it works on creatures or not, a talent like that might come in handy."

"It's not a talent," Lily spat, then scowled, turning away. "I might have thought about it," she muttered, just loud enough that Cas wasn't sure if anyone else had heard it.

Apparently Ellen did, though, because she said, "Well, you've got plenty of time to keep thinking. We can set you up in one of the back rooms while you figure it out, if you like." She glanced at Dean and Sam, and her smile widened slightly as she said, "Consider it a personal favor. Besides, the place has been busy lately. We can always use some extra hands, and it's not like Ash ever pulls his weight."

"I can hear you, you know," someone else said, and Cas glanced back over at the Roadhouse's front door just in time to see a third person join them. His hair was long, stretching past his shoulders, and he carried an open beer can in one hand and a small glass bottle in the other. "And just for the record, I resent that. I always do the things you tell me."

"Yeah, after I've nagged you into getting off your butt and actually doing it," Ellen said, giving him a swat on the arm.

Ash – Cas knew that that was who this man must be – shrugged it off, acknowledging that, then turned to Sam and Dean. "Winchesters!" he said, grinning at the two of them, then used his beer to make a vague gesture at Cas. "And this is, what? Your angel boyfriend or whatever?"

Cas opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, squinting at him in confusion. As far as he was aware, neither Sam nor Dean had talked to Ash about who Cas was, and had never mentioned his relationship with Dean.

"You're not the only one that Bobby talks to," Ellen said, in way of explanation. "He keeps me updated on what you boys are up to, since it's not like I can expect either of you to pick up the phone when you don't need something." Sam and Dean both had the grace to look sheepish.

"Speaking of which," Jo said, and poked Dean in the side, "why'd you never tell us about him, huh?"

"When was I supposed to?" Dean asked. "'Hey, I need you to look us some info about kids with dead parents, and by the way, I'm banging this dude Cas'?" Jo rolled her eyes.

"Okay, okay," Sam cut in, holding up his hands and grinning. "You can interrogate Dean about his love life later. For now..." Sam reached into his jacket pocket and carefully removed the Colt. Even though Cas knew that it wasn't loaded, and that the last of the bullets had been used by Azazel, he still couldn't help but flinch at the sight of it. He supposed that it was a side effect of being shot with it once already, and then having Azazel attempt to murder him with it shortly after. Dean reached over and grabbed his hand.

"Awesome," Ash announced, turning away from Dean. He crumpled his beer can and tossed it to the ground – earning himself a glare from Ellen, which he ignored – then grabbed the gun from Sam and held it in the air. "Let's light this sucker up!"

They headed around to the back of the Roadhouse, since Ellen insisted that burning something so close to the road wasn't a good idea, even if Cas doubted that there were going to be any more cars passing this way anytime soon. If he were being honest, he'd also say that he didn't quite believe what Ellen had said about needing more hands to help around the Roadhouse. It didn't look like they saw many visitors, or at least, they definitely didn't have many now.

Still, though, they found a clear area out back, where there was already a fire pit dug. Ash tossed the Colt into the center of it without any ceremony, then held out the bottle to Sam. "Here ya go," he said, dumping the bottle into Sam's hands so fast that Sam nearly dropped it, and had to scramble to get a hold. "Figured one of you guys should do the honors."

"Where'd you even find this stuff?" Dean asked, and Sam started pouring a thick layer of it over the gun. "I mean, most hunters we've run into don't even know that angels exist, let alone how to get their hands on some holy oil."

Ash shrugged. "I've got a friend of a friend of a friend," he said, casually stretching his hands up over his head before adding another, "of a friend." He shook his head. "The point is, you can get your hands on pretty much anything if you know the right people, and enough hunters have passed through here over the years that even if you don't know someone who can get what you want, you're bound to at least know someone who knows someone who can."

Dean nodded, and Sam twisted the cap back onto the half-empty bottle, then tucked it into his jacket pocket. "And this'll work?" he asked, looking toward Cas for the answer.

"Yes," Cas said, just as he had the first time that this question had been asked of him. He didn't voice his doubts, or admit that he wasn't entirely certain. If it didn't work, then they'd find out soon enough, and come up with a new plan. But he thought that it would. "Holy oil is one of the strongest substances that I know of. It's the only substance strong enough to trap an angel, and one of the only things that can wound one, even if it isn't always fatal. I believe that it will serve to destroy the Colt."

"Well, only one way to find out," Dean said, and flipped open his lighter, which Cas hadn't even noticed him pulling from his pocket. The flame sparked to life, and Dean added, "I totally call dibs on this one."

"Go ahead," Sam said, stepping back and gesturing toward the fire pit.

Dean grinned, and tossed the lighter into the fire pit with just a bit too much of a dramatic flair. Normally, Cas would say that Dean's tendency to throw the lighter into whatever he was burning was wasteful, even if they did have several dozen replacement lighters in the back of the Impala. In this case, though, it turned out to be a good decision. The moment that the flame touched the oil, it flared up into the air, high enough that all of them had to stumble back to avoid being burned.

"Well," Ellen said, and chuckled slightly, "you sure know how to give something a good ending."

"Dude," Ash said, then shook his head and didn't add anything more. Instead, he just grinned and grabbed the nearest stick that he could find, using it to poke at the Colt. Then he quickly had to drop the stick, as the whole thing burned away in just a few seconds. "That's awesome," he announced.

"So, how long does this thing take to burn?" Jo asked.

The whole group turned to Cas for the answer. He frowned. "It depends on the exact amount of oil that Sam used, but it will be a long time," he said. "Holy oil is designed to burn slowly." After all, it wouldn't be of much use to trap an angel if the angel only had to wait a few seconds before they oil was gone.

"So we've got a while," Jo concluded. "Might as well go inside, then. No point in waiting out here." She grabbed Cas by the edge of his jacket – a brown one of Dean's that had somehow survived the chaos of the past months – and dragged him back to the Roadhouse. "Come on, angel boy. Let's see if you can handle your liquor the way that us humans can."

* * *

><p>They stumbled out to the back of the Roadhouse a few hours later to check on the Colt. Or, Dean was stumbling. Cas was surprisingly steady on his feet, that <em>bitch<em>. He'd drank at least twice as much as everyone else – mainly because Jo was so amused by Cas that she kept shoving more drinks at him – and the guy still didn't even look buzzed.

"I told you that you shouldn't have tried to drink Jo under the table," Sam said, voice heavy with amusement, and this infuriating little smirk on his face as he watched Dean nearly trip over his own damn feet and faceplant into the dirt.

Dean shook his head, then grabbed the side of his head because _woah_, not a good idea. "Doesn't make sense," he mumbled. It wasn't like this was the drunkest he'd ever been, and Jo wasn't exactly looking a hundred percent steady herself, but still, she should at least be worse off than him.

Jo grinned this big, cheesy smile that showed all her teeth. "You're not the first guy I've scammed," she said. "Just be glad that I didn't get you to bet on it this time, or you'd be leaving here empty handed."

Dean scowled, and came close to tripping over nothing again. At least Cas showed some sympathy – he reached out and wrapped an arm around Dean's waist, helping to keep him steady. Sam just laughed. Some brother he was.

Okay, if the situations had been reversed, Dean definitely would have done the same thing. But still. Didn't mean that Sam had the right.

"And you know what?" Dean added. "This isn't fair either." Cas frowned, not getting it, so Dean made a vague gesture up and down Cas' body. "Last time we went out drinking, I was the one who had to haul your drunk ass around. This angelic alcohol immunity or whatever, it's fucking bullshit."

Cas was grinning now, the exact same way that Sam was. "Even so, I have to say that I'm enjoying it," he said. "I'm going to look forward to going to bars with you from now on."

Dean just scowled again. "Fucking bullshit," he repeated.

The fire was still burning just as high as it had been when they'd left it, even though they'd been gone long enough for the sky to be starting to get dark. "Is it supposed to do that?" Dean asked. "Doesn't seem natural."

"It's _holy oil_, Dean," Cas said. "Why would it act natural?"

Okay, he had a point there.

Sam, Jo, and Ellen left to fill up some buckets from the hose along the building. Dean and Cas didn't follow – apparently Dean couldn't be trusted to carry one himself, which he'd be mad about if he wasn't pretty sure that it was true. Cas stayed with him, since he was still holding Dean up, and anyway even three buckets were probably overkill, heavenly substance or not.

Ash and Lily were still inside the Roadhouse. Ash was busy doing something on his computer which, knowing Ash, could be anything from playing stupid Internet games to hacking into the frickin' government. And Lily- well, Dean didn't actually know where she'd disappeared to, only that she'd run off to some corner of the Roadhouse the moment that they'd first gone inside, and nobody had seen her since. To be fair, though, nobody had exactly gone looking. Not that they were trying to ignore her, or anything like that – it just seemed like the girl deserved some alone time, after everything.

It ended up taking two full buckets and half of the third to put out the fire completely, so it was a good thing that the three of them all went, after all. And there was no way in hell that any of them were going to be messing around with the Colt until all of the flames were gone – considering that these flames could apparently melt angels in their true forms, Dean wasn't terribly eager to see what it did to human flesh.

After they got rid of the fires, it still took a few minutes for the smoke to clear. When it did, though, they could all see the Colt clearly.

Or, specifically, they could see what was left of it.

Cas' plan had worked maybe too well. What used to be the Colt was now just a charred lump of metal, melted and distorted to the point that it was almost unrecognizable as a gun. Yeah, Dean made a mental note to not let that holy oil stuff anywhere near his skin.

"I don't know exactly what you boys were going for," Ellen said, "but I'm going to go ahead and call this one a success."

Dean nodded. "I can tell you one thing," he said, and then grinned. "The demons sure as hell won't be opening that Gate anytime soon."

* * *

><p>They left the Roadhouse about noon the next day. Between the hugs from Ellen and Jo and the fist bumps and high fives from Ash, it was almost fifteen minutes before they actually made it outside.<p>

"Keys," Dean said firmly as soon as they made it out the door, turning to Sam and holding out his hand.

Sam nodded and pulled them out of his pocket. He'd snagged them off of Dean at the beginning of their binge drinking last night, since it wasn't like this would've been the first time that Dean tried to drive off while hammered, and Sam had long since learned that it was better to be proactive. Now, though, Dean looked fine, and not even terribly hungover. So Sam tossed them over to his brother, who caught it with one hand and headed for the Impala.

Lily was waiting for them when they got there.

She was sitting on the hood of the car, gloved hand fidgeting in her lap. Sam saw Dean's mouth open, ready to be angry about her sitting there and possibly scuffing up the hood, so he hurried to speak before Dean got the chance. "Hey," he said causally, stepping forward and leaning against the side of the Impala beside her while Dean and Cas hung back. "I was starting to think you weren't going to come see us off."

"Why would I?" she snapped, almost before the words were fully out of Sam's mouth.

He just shrugged. "Well, you're here, aren't you?" he said. "Clearly you've gotta have a reason."

Her scowl was the only response he got.

"What are you going to do next?" Sam asked, after the silence had stretched on for a minute. She looked at him like he was an idiot, so he hurried to add, "I mean, I know that you're staying here for now, and Ellen's going to talk to you more about hunting. But… I don't know, have you thought about what you're going to _do_?"

He still wasn't phrasing it well, and he knew it. It was okay, though. He was pretty sure that she got his meaning, because she crossed her good arm over her chest and looked away. "I don't know."

"You have the hex bag that we gave you?" Sam asked.

She nodded. "And I remember how to do the devil's trap. And the banishing sigils." Her lips pulled up in something that almost resembled a smile. It was hard to call it that, though, when it didn't touch the rest of her face. "Nothing's going to be able to track me down, and if they do, then I'll be good."

Sam just nodded, not saying anything. Lily still looked uncomfortable, glancing around like she didn't know where to look. Though when Sam followed her gaze, he realized that she was looking over at Dean and Cas, who had both backed up farther than they needed to just to avoid being touched. They were at least fifteen feet away, and looked like they were deep in conversation, or at least faking it well. Giving the two of them privacy, Sam realized.

"I might try Internet dating," Lily suddenly blurted, then looked like she hadn't known why she'd just said that. Even so, she shrugged and awkwardly continued, "I mean, it's not perfect or anything, but it's not like I can hurt a girl if she's on the other side of a computer screen, so that seems like the way to go."

"Sounds like a good idea," Sam said, and smiled as encouragingly as he could. Not that it did a whole lot of good, since Lily didn't even glance at him.

"Yeah, well," she said, and shrugged again. Now, her eyes were locked on the ground. "The point is, I'm not going to let this thing stop me. Or, I'm going to try not to, at least."

"Good," Sam said, and hesitated, then reached over to squeeze her good shoulder. "I'm glad, Lily. Honestly, I am."

"Thanks," she muttered, slowly lifting her head to finally look up at him. Her lips twitched, and this time, the smile looked slightly more genuine.

Then, without warning, she suddenly threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around him. And honestly, that hadn't been what he had been expecting, but he still only hesitated for a moment before hugging her back.

Her good arm squeezed him tight. She rose onto her tiptoes, which made her just tall enough to rest her head on his shoulder, burying her face in his neck. It felt strangely intimate, almost uncomfortably so. But at the same time, it wasn't at all. Mainly because he got the feeling that it wasn't really him that she was hugging – more like she just wanted to hug a person, and who it was didn't actually matter.

He could only imagine how long it'd been since she'd gotten to hold someone like this, so he didn't pull back. Instead, he just held her back just as tightly, even as the seconds passed, to the point where it was starting to stretch on for way too long. Then she abruptly dropped her arm and stepped back, and he let her go, pretending that he didn't notice that her eyes were wet.

"Thanks, Sam," she said in a low voice, and cleared her throat. "Just, keep in touch, okay? Come back to visit?"

He still wasn't sure if she was asking because she wanted to see him again, or if she just wanted to see anyone that she was capable of touching. He didn't ask, though. Either way, it didn't seem to matter. So instead, he just nodded, and promised, "I will."

She smiled tightly, then turned and ran off, not looking back until the Roadhouse door was swinging shut behind her.

It was only a few more seconds before Dean and Cas rejoined Sam by the Impala. "You ready to go?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam said quickly, turning to heading to the passenger seat. "Let's go."

They were at least twenty miles down the road before Dean bothered to look over at the two of them and ask, "So, where do you guys want to go, anyway?"

Sam just shrugged. Honestly, it didn't really matter to him where they headed now. He wouldn't even have had a problem with staying at the Roadhouse for a little longer, if it wasn't for the fact that Dean was obvious eager to get back on the road. Although, Sam was pretty sure that Dean didn't have any preferences, either, or even any real reason for wanting to leave so soon. But considering that the traffic yesterday had forced them to slow to a crawl for pretty much the whole drive, Sam'd say that Dean would be fine with any destination as long as he got to push the speedometer up to ninety on the way there.

Besides, they didn't have a case yet, which meant that there was no place that they had to be anytime soon. Sam had made a halfhearted glance at the news headlines this morning, just in case anything seemed fishy, but they'd all seemed clean. Or, at least, it looked like all of the crimes had been committed by humans.

He could've looked harder, and probably found something for them to hunt. He hadn't, though. After everything that'd gone down, he was pretty sure that they'd earned a vacation, and he planned on making sure that they got one.

Considering that Sam didn't have a preference, and Dean clearly didn't care, either, it made sense that Cas was the one who spoke up.

"I want to go buy some better-fitting clothes," he said, tugging on the collar of his shirt to show what he meant.

Sam nodded. They'd had a few days to pick up some more clothes while Cas was still recovering from his bullet wound, so at least they had more options than they'd first had to leave their stuff behind. But considering that Cas had been too weak to shop and Dean had flatly refused to leave Cas' bedside for a moment, Sam had had to guess at the sizes. He hadn't done that good of a job. The stuff he'd bought for Dean fit more or less okay, but he'd figured that it was better to err on the side of getting clothes that were too big instead of too small. Cas looked like a skeleton with his shirt hanging off of him like that.

"Yeah," Dean said, using the rearview mirror to check Cas out. "Yeah, I'd say you definitely need some new stuff."

Cas nodded, then added firmly, "And I want to get a new trench coat. You bled on my last one."

"Hey," Dean protested, sounding completely offended even though he was smiling. "It wasn't like that was my fault!"

"I know," Cas said simply. "But I still need a new one. Or possibly more than one. I've been going through them at an alarming rate, it might be smarter to stock up."

Dean laughed at that, and shook his head. "Okay, buddy," he said after a moment, grinning at Cas in the rearview mirror again. "Let's go get you as many trench coats as you want."

* * *

><p>Apparently Cas had been serious about the trench coat thing. He picked out seven of them.<p>

"We've already established that they don't last very long before they get ruined somehow," Cas insisted, piling them all onto one of his arms. "It makes more sense to buy multiple of them, so that we don't have to return to the store after every case to find a new one." He must have seen that Dean still wasn't convinced, because he added, "You aren't using your own money, so it shouldn't matter how many I buy."

Okay, Dean wasn't about to argue with that logic. Besides, Cas looked so freakin' happy, clutching that whole pile of coats to his chest. It was thick enough that he could barely hold all of them in his arms, but he still managed to hug them like they were some kind of stuffed animal – or maybe a baby blanket would be a better comparison. Either way, it was really, stupidly adorable, and there was no way that Dean was going to say no to that face. If he didn't know better, he'd say that Sam had been giving Cas secret lessons in how to do the puppy dog eyes while Dean wasn't around.

Hell, maybe Sam actually had done that. Dean wasn't sure if that'd even surprise him at this point.

"Fine," he said, but he made sure to use a long-suffering voice when he said it, to make sure that Cas knew exactly how ridiculous this was. "Or you could just get one and be careful to keep it clean," Dean couldn't help but add as he watched Cas pile them all into the cart.

Cas looked up at him, eyes narrowed slightly. "Very good point," he said, voice flat. "I will remember that the next time that I'm being stabbed by a psychopath or holding your bleeding body while we race to the hospital."

"Okay, fine," Dean said, holding up his hands. "Point taken. Now come on, I wanna grab a couple more tee shirts."

Sam was over at the other side of the store, going through some section that had the largest selection of plaid that Dean had ever seen. And Dean was definitely tempted to go over there and make a joke about how that place must be Sam's wet dream come to life, except it was actually pretty convenient, having all of it in one place. Definitely made it easier to find stuff to buy. And he was probably going to end up picking out most of his clothes from that section, so he figured he'd better hold off on the jokes.

"Dean," Cas suddenly said, as Dean was grabbing a gray tee shirt off the pile and tossing it into the cart. His voice was suddenly a million times more serious than it had been a minute earlier.

"God," Dean groaned, and shook his head, because that kind of voice could never mean anything good. "What is it this time?"

When he turned back around, Cas was watching him with a confused frown on his face. "I was only going to make sure that you knew that I had heard your prayers during the battle against Azazel and Naomi."

Now it was Dean's turn to get all confused. "Well, yeah," he said. "That was kind of the point, wasn't it? I wouldn't have been praying to you if I hadn't wanted you to hear it." And from what he'd heard of the battle, he was pretty sure that that was what saved his life. He might not have made it if Cas hadn't been able to find him so easily. Or, okay, Sam might've had more to do with that one, since he'd been the one to actually carry Dean away and all. Still, though, he was sure that the praying had been a pretty damn good decision.

"Yes," Cas said at once. "And I'm very glad that you did. It was reassuring to be able to tell that you were still alive and uninjured, and it allowed me to know immediately when that was no longer the case."

"...Okay," Dean said after a moment of Cas not adding anything more. "Then what's the point of bringing this all up?"

Cas hesitated for only a moment longer, then said, "I wanted to make sure that you remembered what praying entailed, and what it allows angels to do." Dean's face must've looked pretty blank, because Cas added, "It's a direct link from your soul to the angel you pray to – in this case, me. It was how the angels realized who I really was, because they were able to look directly at my soul." He hesitated for another moment, then finished, "I wanted to make sure that you hadn't accidentally taken part in a more... intimate method of communication than you'd counted on."

Dean's mouth suddenly felt dry. "You can do that?" he asked. "Even without your grace, or whatever? You can still see into my soul?"

Cas frowned, then slowly nodded once.

Dean swallowed hard, and nodded back. He didn't look at Cas right then – for absolutely no reason, since he didn't freakin' have a clue why he was so embarrassed – but he said, "That's fine. I mean, I don't have any problem with you seeing it, or whatever."

He still wasn't looking at Cas, but even so, he could tell that Cas was smiling as he stepped closer. "Thank you," he said. His voice was soft, and so was his hand when he placed it on Dean's shoulder. "I consider it an honor that you trust me with looking at your soul. It was-"

Dean cut him off quickly, shaking his head hard. "No way," he said. "I mean, you can look at it, and that's fine, but don't start describing it to me or anything. I don't want to hear anything about what my soul's like, okay?" Mostly because he could just picture how messed up it'd looked. Especially since it'd technically belonged to Azazel the whole time that Cas had been looking at it, but also because- Well, just because it was his soul, and there was no way that it hadn't taken some damage over the years, even without the fact that he'd sold it to a demon. And sure, he could live with the fact that Cas had seen it, since it wasn't like there was any other choice. But hearing about it would definitely be crossing the line, and would just make it all a whole lot worse.

Cas was silent for a long time, long enough that Dean finally had to give in and look over at him, just to figure out what the hell the dude was thinking.

The moment that he turned his head, Cas' hands moved to cup the sides of his face, and then Cas' lips were pressed against his own. Not hard – they were still in public, after all, and even Cas seemed to have caught on to the fact that two guys shouldn't make out in the middle of a store. Instead, it was light, almost sweet.

"Beautiful," Cas whispered, and Dean could feel Cas' lips move against his own as he spoke. "That's how I was going to describe your soul. Beautiful."

* * *

><p>It was early morning only a couple days later when Cas slipped out of bed. They were once again back to buying two motel rooms for the three of them, which meant that Cas only had to take care not to wake Dean as he moved about the room, dressing himself. He ran one hand through his hair, then decided that he didn't care enough to go brush it right then, nor did he feel like going to shave the stubble that had grown on his face since the previous morning.<p>

Instead, he pulled his new trench coat tight around his form, and took one last look at Dean, who was still lying asleep in bed. He was curled up around his pillow now that Cas was no longer there for him to hug, and though Dean always said that he only needed four hours of sleep, Cas knew that he would always sleep in late if given the chance. He would not wake in time to notice Cas' absence.

Cas smiled, then left the motel.

He wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to do this in private. Part of it was that it simply felt too personal to share with anyone else, not even Dean. And it a problem that he had caused, which meant that he had to be the one to solve it, not the Winchesters.

More than that, part of him worried that he would turn out to be wrong. And if he was, he wanted to be alone when he found out.

All in all, this felt like something that had to be done alone.

It was still summer, which meant that the morning air was warm, almost too warm for him to actually be wearing his trench coat. He ignored that, though, and even hugged the coat closer to him, like a child with a security blanket. He didn't exactly relish the idea of comparing himself to a child, but Dean had said that to him once, and Cas had to admit, the comparison felt accurate.

He hesitated for a long time, not quite wanting to say it. Then he took a breath, and closed his eyes, then said aloud, "Balthazar."

He waited for a response, but he didn't receive one. Not immediately, in any case.

"Balthazar," he repeated, slightly louder this time, as though that would make any difference. "I know you, Balthazar. You have been planning on running away for as long as I've known you, even if I've never been certain whether you truly would or not. But you are one of the best warriors I've fought with, and one of the smartest. I know that you didn't really die in that battle."

Cas held his breath, waiting.

"Oh, come off it," a voice suddenly said from behind him, and Cas spun around, in time to see a man standing behind him and rolling his eyes. "There is no way that you could have actually known that."

Cas smiled, relief suddenly flooding through him. "No," he admitted. "I wasn't certain that you had survived. But I hoped."

"Well, that's flattering," Balthazar said. The vessel he wore now was blonde, and had a distinct French accent. It was also older than Cas was now – older than most of the vessels that the angels chose. Cas couldn't help but wonder whether this was the only vessel available to him, or if he'd chosen it specifically to avoid suspicion. "Now tell me, what do you want now? Don't tell me that you're calling me out of hiding just for a chat."

Cas shook his head, and pulled Balthazar's angel blade from the pocket of his coat. For a split second, he thought that he saw Balthazar tense up, but Cas just offered it to him, handle first. "You left this on the battlefield," he said. "I know that you must have done it to make your death seem more realistic, but I thought that you would want it back."

Balthazar smiled. "Thank you," he said, taking the blade and carefully tucking it away. Then he pulled out another blade and held it out. "I'll offer you a trade," he said. "I picked that one up off of one of Naomi's henchmen, but I like mine so much better. And there's no point in me carrying around two, is there? Especially since I've already stocked up on more than I could ever need."

Cas' smile widened as he took the blade. "Thank you, brother," he said. He had his own blade back now, but still, this would be useful. It would give Sam and Dean something to wield, in case it was ever necessary to kill a demon or fight against an angel again.

"Now, come on," Balthazar urged. "What is it? And don't say that you just want the joy of my company, or to return my blade, because I know you, Castiel. I know that look in your eyes. You want to ask me something, don't you?"

Cas hesitated, but he really couldn't deny that that was true. Instead, he simply nodded, and decided to come right out with it. "I want you to sneak me into Heaven."

Balthazar spluttered, looking honestly caught off guard, which was not a look that Cas saw from him often. "Excuse me?" he asked. "Have you been listening to the angels at all lately?"

Cas shook his head. "The block that Naomi put in my mind is still in place," he said. "With her dead, it would potentially be possible to remove it, but I decided not to. This isn't my fight any longer, brother. I don't want to be involved any more than I have to me."

Balthazar hummed, making a small noise of agreement. "In that case, let me assure you that it is utter chaos upstairs. Hester's army is holding their own well enough, but still, we'd have a better chance of surviving tea at Luci's place than of making it through Heaven unscathed."

"Not if we used the back entrances," Cas argued. "Not if they never discovered that we were there."

Balthazar couldn't argue with that, and based on the sour look on his face, he realized it, too. "Okay," he finally acknowledged. "So it would be possible to potentially make it through without them even finding us. So what? It'd still be taking a huge risk, and might I remind you that I've already done my part for your little rebellion. More than my part, actually. I don't owe you anything more, and I'm not about to risk my life so soon after I faked my death."

Cas immediately shook his head. "You never owed me anything at all, Balthazar," he said. "And I won't ask you for anything more than what you're willing to do." He hesitated, then said, "I asked Hester for the same favor, and she also refused. She said that it would be too dangerous." That had been a different situation, though. He had asked the question right after they'd spoken about her decision to join his side, while he'd been escorting her out of the diner. Back then, Naomi had still had full control, and Cas had been a wanted fugitive. With Naomi gone, and a war underway, Cas was hoping that things would be different enough to make this possible.

"Surely the battles aren't affecting the humans' individual Heavens?" he asked. He couldn't imagine any angel – even Naomi's followers – being cruel enough to let their fighting affect the humans who were supposed to be at peace.

Balthazar frowned. "Is that where you want to go?" Cas nodded, and Balthazar hesitated for a moment, then said, "No, the wars haven't touched those. Not yet, at least, and hopefully they never will." He was silent for another minute, then said, "Alright, there may be a way to get through them without any of the other angels seeing us. After all, with everything that's been going on, it's not like anyone's been watching them too closely. All of the angels are too focused on the battlefield to go looking anywhere else."

That was exactly what Cas had wanted to hear.

"Thank you," he said, reaching out and clasping Balthazar's hand in both of his own. "Really, brother, thank you. You've done too much for me already. I can't even tell you how grateful I am."

"I haven't exactly agreed," Balthazar protested, and narrowed his eyes at Cas for another few seconds before sighing and shaking his head. "Okay, fine, you win. We'll try this."

"Thank you," Cas repeated.

Balthazar just shook his head again. "Why do you need to sneak into some human's Heaven, anyway?" he asked.

Cas hesitated, biting his lip for a moment before saying, "Personal reasons." That wasn't a good answer, though, and he knew it. And considering how much Balthazar was doing for him, he deserved to know more than that. So Cas took a deep breath, and said, "There's someone that I need to speak to. To thank him, mostly." Another pause, and then- "And to tell him how deeply sorry I am."

Balthazar still didn't look like he completely understood, but he nodded. "Alright, then," he said, and held out his arm for Cas to hold onto while they transported. "Let's get going, then."

And despite everything – despite the fact that he had been the one to insist on this – it still took everything in Cas to force himself to reach out to take Balthazar's arm. The majority of him wanted to say that he had changed his mind, and to turn and scramble back to bed and simply lie with Dean. He couldn't, though. So instead, he made himself take hold of Balthazar, and nod.

"Yes," he agreed, quiet enough that he couldn't quite hear his own voice. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Jimmy Novak's Heaven was tranquil.<p>

It was the only word for it, Cas thought, looking around at the bright green grass and vibrantly blue sky. Many humans had Heavens that appeared far more beautiful than the area had been in real life – after all, the point of Heaven was to enhance one's best memories. Still, though, as Cas looked at the rows of flowers blooming around the perimeter of the large white house, he couldn't help but think that this was one of the more beautiful Heavens that he had ever seen.

Jimmy was in the backyard, sitting on one of the porch steps. For a moment, Cas was frozen, simply staring at him. Jimmy looked to be a few years younger than Cas' body was now, and the Claire by his side couldn't be older than four or five. She was cuddled up beside her father, her arms around his waist and her cheek pressed against his chest, staring at the picture book that he held in his lap.

It wasn't truly Claire, of course. The real Claire was still alive, and even if she was not, it was unlikely that her father was her soulmate. That meant that once she died, she would receive her own Heaven instead of joining her father in this one. Instead, this Claire was simply one of Jimmy's memories, replayed now for all of eternity.

Cas knew that he should just hurry and step forward, to go speak to Jimmy as he had come here to do. He couldn't bring himself to move, though, and instead just stood frozen, staring.

As he watched, Amelia Novak walked out of the back door. She paused in the doorway for a single moment, giving her husband a soft smile that he turned his head just in time to see. Then she pushed the door closed and sat down on Claire's other side. Her arm reached out to wrap around Jimmy, cuddling their daughter between them. Jimmy smiled over at the two of them, and for an instant, Cas was struck by the fact that this gesture looked nothing like the ones that he had seen in the mirror, even though they both used the same body.

Claire moved to lean her head against her mother's chest instead, and Jimmy turned back to the book in his lap, continuing to read.

Cas could hear the words now. It was a book of prayers. The current page showed an angel, clad in white light, while the words on the page asked for the angels to always be at their side.

"He doesn't realize that he's dead, does he?" Cas asked softly.

"No," Balthazar agreed, "he doesn't. But you're going to tell him, aren't you?"

"Yes," Cas said, but he still didn't move.

"You know that there's no going back from something like that," Balthazar said. His voice was casual enough, not carrying any hidden warnings, more like he was just sharing information. "Most souls never realize that they're dead, but once they do- Well, some people are happy to know that they're in Heaven, even when they realize that nothing around them is technically real. Others-"

He didn't have to continue. Cas was already nodding. He had spent enough time in Heaven to know that some human souls couldn't adapt to the idea that they were dead. It was the reason why most humans' Heavens were realistic enough that they never realized the truth.

"I'd planned on asking him if he had any last words," Cas said. "Anything that he wanted to say to his wife and daughter, if he could send them one last message."

Based on the look on Balthazar's face, he was barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, as if he didn't think that it was worth sneaking into Heaven just for this. "Now, that's all very noble and all," he said, then gestured toward Jimmy, "but why would he give them one last message when he thinks that they're right there with him?"

Because those were not really his family members, Cas wanted to say. Because his real wife and daughter were still on Earth, missing him and wondering where he might be. Because just based on what his Heaven entailed, Cas knew that Jimmy was the type of man who would want to do anything to comfort his family, if he could.

But then, if Jimmy was happy here, did it matter if it wasn't real?

"If I speak to him now, he might never be able to accept the fact that he's dead," Cas said, more to himself then to Balthazar, though he could see that his brother was listening.

"True," Balthazar agreed, in a voice that made it seem as though he wasn't terribly worried about that prospect. Then again, Cas hadn't expected him to be.

For a long minute, neither of them said anything.

"Do you still want to speak to him?" Balthazar finally asked, with a wide sweep of his hand in Jimmy's general direction.

Cas hesitated, and bit his lip, but-

"No," he said slowly. "No, I don't think that I should." He swallowed, and said, "Take me home, please."

* * *

><p>Cas' mood was subdued as Balthazar set him down on the sidewalk outside of the motel. It was still early enough in the morning that there was nobody around to see them suddenly appear out of nowhere, which was fortunate, because Cas wasn't entirely sure if Balthazar was paying attention to those things.<p>

"Look at it this way," Balthazar said. "At least you know he's in a good Heaven, right? He's happy and all that. That must count for something."

"Yes," Cas agreed. That was good to know, at least, even if it was a small comfort. Jimmy was happy, at least, but that would do nothing for his wife or daughter, and they were the ones that Cas mainly worried about.

Balthazar must have been able to read that off of Cas' face, because he said, "You know that humans can receive money off of their spouse's deaths?" Cas frowned, not comprehending, and Balthazar made a face and added, "I know, sounds terribly morbid to me, but there you go. It's an insurance thing. But I'm sure that they could use it, what with having a child and all. And anyway, it might give them some closure. As much closure as they're ever likely to get, at least."

Cas stared at his friend, finally understanding. "And do you think that you-"

"Please," Balthazar scoffed, before Cas could even ask. "I convinced everyone in Heaven that I'm dead. I think I can handle faking the death of a pesky little human, even if you're going to keep walking around in his vessel."

"Thank you," Cas said, and only paused for a moment before he reached out to embrace Balthazar. "Thank you, brother."

Balthazar shrugged somewhat awkwardly. "Yes, well," he said. "It will at least give me something to do in between deciding which orgy I want to join in on next."

Cas frowned, and stepped back. He didn't want to get upset with Balthazar, not after his brother had just helped him so much, but he couldn't help but say, "Your vessel-"

Balthazar cut off that thought completely. "Please, he loves it," he said. "The last three were his ideas, actually. And wonderful ideas they were, too." He smirked, then shook his head, and snorted. "Why do you think that I chose this man? This is the most fun he's ever had in his life."

Cas nodded. "I just had to be sure."

Balthazar waved one hand, waving that off. "Whatever you say, brother," he said. "Now, if there's nothing else that you want to talk me into doing for you?"

Cas shook his head, and Balthazar smiled at him for one more instant before disappearing completely.

Based on how light the sky was, Cas estimated that at least half an hour had passed on Earth since he had disappeared, maybe slightly longer. He doubted that Dean had woken up at all in that time, but still, he should go make sure that he was in the motel when Dean finally did wake. He didn't want Dean to worry at all, and his missing presence would definitely be enough to cause worry.

Still, though, he waited another moment, staring at the place where Balthazar had disappeared.

He trusted his brother to keep his word. Despite how it may seem, he had always been loyal – to Cas, if to nobody else but himself. If he said that he would fake Jimmy's death, then that would be what he would do, and Cas trusted him to do it well.

Amelia would receive money, to help her with giving Claire whatever a girl her age might need. And Claire and Amelia would have some answers, at least. Maybe not all of them, but at least they would know for sure that Jimmy Novak was never coming back. They wouldn't be waiting for him any longer. Hopefully, they would be able to move on.

It didn't feel like enough. But then, Cas knew that nothing ever could be. He had taken their father and husband from them, and no repayment could ever come close to making that right.

But it was the best that he could do.

He only hesitated another moment, and then turned and returned to the motel room.

Dean was still sleeping soundly, just as Cas had hoped that he would be. Cas carefully slipped back into bed beside him, scooting closer until he could wrap his arms around Dean's body and hold him close. Dean didn't wake, but he did sigh softly, and Cas swore that he could even feel Dean relax against him.

Cas smiled slightly, then closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Dean's back, focusing on Dean's breathing to block out his thoughts.

It felt wrong to benefit from another family's loss, but even so, Cas couldn't help but feel as though he would've done anything to get him right here, to this moment, in this body, with Dean.

"Cas?" Dean asked, his voice slow from sleep, and turned to look over his shoulder at him.

"Shhh," Cas urged, and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Dean's neck. "I'm here. Go back to sleep."

Dean nodded, and he must have still been only partially awake, because he immediately laid his head back on the pillow to do exactly that. "Great plan," he muttered, his voice slurred slightly, and barely loud enough for Cas to hear him. Then- "Love ya, Cas."

Dean had said those words out loud only once before. Cas had known it before then, of course. And if he had ever doubted it, his doubts would have dissipated the moment that he had heard Dean's prayers, and felt his soul. Still, though, Cas had to admit that he liked hearing the words, even if Dean was only admitting it out loud because he was half asleep and not thinking well enough to censor what he said.

Cas couldn't stop the grin from spouting on his face, and leaned forward to press another kiss, this one against the back of Dean's shoulder. "I love you, too, Dean Winchester," he said, in a fierce voice that he hoped left no doubt to the fact that it was true.

Dean made a soft, happy noise, and shuffled backward to move himself closer to Cas. Cas' smile grew, and he pulled Dean against his chest.

This was what he had rebelled for, Cas realized with sudden clarity. This man in his arms. But still, when Cas had made the choice to turn against what Heaven and Naomi wished him to be, he had had no way of knowing that it would lead to this moment here, the two of them tangled in bed together, Dean hogging both the pillows and the blankets. He had wanted to save the Righteous Man from Hell, nothing more. He had no idea that he would also save himself.

It was worth it. Of course it was worth it, since Dean still lived, and had his own soul. But more than that, Cas thought that he would redo all of the risks, turn against Naomi yet again if she were still alive, all for one second of lying with Dean this way.

And he would be able to do this an unknowable number of times, he realized. Every day for the rest of their lives, and maybe longer, if he was human enough to go to Heaven when he died. Or maybe he would be angelic enough that he would be able to enter Heaven while he was still not yet dead, and would seek out Dean's Heaven in that way. Either way, Cas would find a way. He was not prepared to face an eternity without Dean Winchester in it.

There was no point in continuing with those thoughts, though. They had decades still before they needed to worry about death, now that the angels and demons were no longer on their tail.

He knew that someday Dean would die, and Cas would have to find a way to unite with him again. There would be more monsters to fight, and more wars to wage. Cas was sure of it. And they would face the problems when they came, together. But for now, Cas just smiled, and slowly allowed his own eyes to once again drift closed, comforted by the sound and feel of Dean's steady breathing.

"I love you, Dean," he repeated once more before he drifted off completely, content in the knowledge that he would be able to say it again when he woke up, and for every day afterward.

He could think of nothing in the universe that could make him happier.


End file.
